So Lost
by never-again8642
Summary: So lost in his kiss was she, and so lost in her kiss was he, that neither of them noticed they were sinking deeper and deeper into the infinite and inescapable abyss of love.[RHr]postHogwarts
1. Summer Sunshine

I want to thank Mizaya SO much for all her amazing help, and of course Aoi Me!

Disclaimer: I clearly don't own any of the HP characters - they belong to JK Rowling; nor do I own the lyrics to "Summer Sunshine" by the Corrs. I just simply own the plot and the words that string it all together.

* * *

Chapter 1 – Summer Sunshine

Hermione Granger walked briskly out to the street, glancing over the slanted rooftops at the sky's changing color. It was dusk and she had been held at work longer than she should have been. Again.

She shook her head to get rid of the imminent annoyed thoughts and contemplated whether to Apparate or walk home. It was a cool evening and wasn't raining, rare for London in July, so Hermione decided to take advantage of the gorgeous weather and walk home to the flat she shared with Ginny Weasley.

Well, sort of shared.

Had shared, until yesterday when Ginny had decided to accept a momentous offer of extra Auror training in South Africa for two years, requesting that Hermione please not rent out her room, as she expected to be back every six months or so to visit.

Hermione sighed and shook her head. With Harry suddenly quitting his promising job as an Auror last month to accept an offer as the Seeker of England's National Quidditch team, and never knowing _where_ Ron was due to the unpredictability of his post with the Department of Mysteries, Hermione felt like she was stuck in a rut.

**_Everyone's changing, I stay the same,_**

Her daytime job was Director of the Magical Creatures Department at the Ministry, which she enjoyed most of the time. But recently it seemed she was bored more often than not, listening to one goblin's complaints about another who took his leprechaun gold. Rolling her eyes unconsciously at her most recent and seemingly ridiculous case (_Honestly_, she thought, _the leprechaun gold disappeared, it wasn't stolen!_), Hermione let her mind wander to the prospect of another job that she worked three times a week and whenever she had some free time. She'd been going back to Hogwarts for a year now, training three nights a week with Minerva McGonagall, who had refused to let Hermione continue to call her "Professor" after she graduated, to become the new Transfiguration teacher after Dumbledore retired and McGonagall became Headmistress.

However, judging by the rigorous training Hermione had been getting – that, to be quite honest, didn't always seem to have anything at all to do with Transfiguration – and McGonagall's insistence that it would be "soon," and with the lack of action towards her being hired, Hermione was beginning to get both impatient and doubtful that anything of the like was going to happen before she turned fifty. Hermione wasn't about to give up just yet, being twenty-five and stubborn about getting what she wanted – though it wasn't as if the thought didn't cross her mind consistently on any given day.

With the combination of her current job and the time-consuming training, she didn't get many chances during the week to socialize with anyone. _Merlin, I haven't even gone to a bar in what seems like years now_, Hermione mused ruefully. Hermione continued to stroll down the street, slowing down as she passed a café to gaze in at the happy families, couples, and groups of friends enjoying an early dinner.

Hermione chuckled to herself as she walked on. If that wasn't a clear metaphor of her life glaring straight at her, then she was Luna Lovegood; she was on the outside of the world, looking in.

**_I'm a solo cello outside a chorus_,**

On the weekends, she usually tried to convince Ginny to do something, but the girl had bloomed quite rapidly after leaving Hogwarts and seemed to be out with a different man every weekend, leaving Hermione to fend for herself. It was rare event that she could reach Harry, and Ron was entirely unpredictable.

Ron. _Well, he's another matter entirely_. The thought flitted through her mind almost before she could grasp onto it. Despite his being practically unreachable these past few years, recently, at least, Hermione had managed to see the redhead more often than Harry by far. _And our encounters are always much more... interesting_. She shuddered in a sudden burst of warm wind, thinking about the last time they had met. _No, you shouldn't be thinking about that, or him... It isn't anything, remember?_

**_I've got a secret_,**

Hermione shook her head. "_'Mione, I'm not sure we should tell anyone about this... I mean, it doesn't mean anything, right? But still... you can guess what they'd all say._" His deep voice echoed through her head like it had been yesterday, though in reality that had been around eleven months ago. He had said that to her right after the first time it had happened. _Why are you thinking about all this _now_? He's gone for two months at the least. _But deep down, Hermione knew why he was always first in her thoughts, and it wasn't only because she missed him. That, however, was _really_ another matter entirely. She couldn't _help_ thinking about him after all that had happened between them in the past eleven months or so... despite the fact that overall, their time together couldn't add up to more than one month, at the very most. But nobody else knew what had been going on. As far as everyone else was concerned, she hadn't seen him any more than anyone else had, and that was virtually not at all.

Hermione blew out a puff of air as a slight smile flew across her face. It had been some time during last August, the end of yet another hot summer, when something had changed their relationship forever.

**_It's time for me to tell that you've been keeping me warm_.

* * *

**

Ron had been back in London for a much longer time than usual, around a week by then, but only had a day or two left before he was going to be called to duty once more, doing whatever he did (of course, he couldn't tell them what it was – and that annoyed Hermione no end) for his job.

Hermione had been in a relationship rut for twenty-four years. Not counting Viktor Krum, that is. By the time she realized that the guy she had been waiting for wasn't about to do a thing, and that Viktor had been willing to be _her_ guy, Hermione was cemented in her role as Viktor's "friend." She had had a few "relationships" after school, if you could even call them that, but nothing that lasted more than a couple of dates. _Pathetic, really_, she thought.

Ron had never so much as hinted to her that he was going out with other women before this, though she knew from Harry that he had about as much experience in _that_ department as one person could have. She usually tried to avoid him finding out she had never had a real boyfriend, though she was fairly sure that he knew that anyway, after being a fellow member of the "Golden Trio" for so long.

The second-to-last evening before Ron left town, Hermione had been puttering around her and Ginny's flat with all the windows open to let in some air. She could have used magic to cool down the air inside the flat, but she was borrowing the stereo of one of their Muggle neighbors and listening to it as she made dinner. Always being the one to think of consequences, she didn't want to risk tampering with it by using too much magic in its vicinity.

Suddenly the door to the flat flew open and in tramped Ron, angry as a bull being charged by the matadors. Hermione turned around sharply, ready to hex whatever ingrate had dared intrude upon the summer serenity that she had been absorbed in, but when she realized which "ingrate" was sitting huffily on her couch, a faint blush swept across her face. She had known for years that she harbored feelings for Ron, but was positive he was oblivious and felt nothing of the sort for her. At that moment, he was the last person she wanted sitting in her living room. Clothed only in a thin, white cotton dress, Hermione was quite aware of how scarce it seemed compared to her normal wardrobe. She only wore it on rare occasions, and that day had been one of them – a combination of laundry day and extreme heat.

She calmed herself, assured that he wouldn't even notice if she was wearing nothing more than a smile, and timidly walked around to face the couch. "Ron? What's the matter?"

He was sitting slouched on the sofa, his arms folded across his chest and a frown spread sulkily across his face. Blue eyes flickered up to acknowledge her presence, but then flashed back to an insignificant spot on the floor in what seemed to be annoyance, though not necessarily directed towards her. After waiting a minute or two for a response and receiving only inaudible mutterings from he who refused to look up from the floor, Hermione began to seat herself in the chair nearest to the couch. Just as she was sitting down, Ron began to talk quite loudly while still not looking at her, frightening Hermione so much that she bounced right back up off the chair again.

"Why do you girls have to be so bloody difficult? I mean, it isn't like the world revolves around you, does it? Bloody hell, I have a life too!"

Ron paused, breathing heavily, and Hermione used this opportunity to intervene.

"Girl problems?" she inquired wryly, trying to hide both her amusement at his mood and her apprehension. Somewhere within herself, she was steeling her heart for the conversation she least wanted to have - speaking to the man she had feelings for about his _love_ life was not the most enjoyable discussion she could think of. In retrospect, she supposed she could have avoided the conversation altogether, but her unwavering sense of best-friendship wouldn't have let her even if the thought had entered her mind.

_**Just sweet beginnings and bitter endings.**_

Ron finally looked at her, carefully keeping his eyes on her face, and nodded resignedly. His anger didn't fade, though.

"One minute, we were sitting on her couch, and then I said I was going away in two days for a couple of months. She asked when exactly I was getting back, and when I said I didn't know, she blew up at me, started ranting about fucking one night shit, or some other bloody ridiculous crap!" Ron sucked in air and looked abruptly at the floor again, his face turning a faint red.

Hermione kept her composure and said tiredly, "Ron, you should have told her ages ago that you would be leaving. I'd guess she thought you were having a bit of fun with her before you –"

"Well what if I was? She doesn't need to know every bloody thing I..." Ron's rant faded out as he caught the look on Hermione's face. He grimaced sheepishly and scooted along the couch towards the end near her chair to rest his arm on the armrest. "Fine, maybe I should have. It's just that...with this job and all, I don't have the time for the sort of commitment that most girls are looking for, you know?" Exasperated, he sighed and leaned far back into the couch, staring out into space. Hermione nodded sympathetically, though she didn't really agree with what he was saying.

They sat there in silence for awhile, Ron continuing to brood morosely. Hermione quickly discovered how close they were really sitting. Her gaze slipped over to where their legs could have been touching had she moved four centimeters to the left; she could almost feel the heat radiating off him. _Shut it! _she reprimanded herself. _You're best friends, only best friends, nothing more..._. Trying to avert her thoughts from subjects that were rapidly making her sweat, Hermione looked out the window closest to her to gaze at a hazy London. The heat must have been affecting most people because they were all either at home or sitting inside the cool cafés. Hermione's gaze fell on the street right next to hers, and without even trying, she could count at least four coffee and tea shops; had she bothered to stand up, she was sure she could see even more. _Ridiculous how many Muggle coffee shops have started to spring up everywhere, two even on the same block!_ Hermione mused. When she had been distracted long enough, Hermione unconsciously turned her head to see how Ron had been faring after his outburst.

With a little jump, she realized that he had been watching her. But the look that Ron wore on his face was not one of amusement about her distraction, nor one of anger anymore, but perhaps – _No, why would it be that?_ – curiosity.

_**In coffee city...**_

Hermione forced a half-smile, trying her hardest not to blush. "What are you looking at, Mr. Weasley?" She tried to sound nonchalant, hoping he would take that as a joke of some sort and not notice how weak it was.

Ron didn't smile, but continued to study her intently. Slowly he leaned forward and said quietly, "Have you ever just wanted to... you know... be able to do things... with someone you felt comfortable with... but then not have to worry about commitment or a relationship afterwards?"

Surprised by his answer, Hermione answered automatically, "I can't say I've ever thought about it. Why?"

She had not realized that Ron had been inching towards her as she spoke, and their legs were now not only touching, but resting against each other as well. Hermione realized this with a jolt and tried her hardest to keep her face impassive.

Ron leaned his head on his hand thoughtfully. "Have you ever had a boyfriend?"

Mildly insulted, and even more surprised at his sudden interest with her non-existent love life, Hermione sniffed. "Well, not that it's any of your business, but I have had a couple. None that have been serious at all, though." Hoping he wouldn't ask any more than that, Hermione put the rest of her concentration towards ignoring the wonderful feel of his strong legs leaning against hers.

"Hmm..." Ron looked intently at her, then leaned even farther into her. "I've heard some of the guys at work talk about something called, er, 'friends with benefits,' which is where you... well, _fool around_ with a friend, and it's simply that – fooling around. No relationship to worry about."

Afraid she might know where the conversation was leading, Hermione, for the first time in her life, chose to play dumb. "So?"

By now their bodies were no more than two feet apart, and Ron was looking at the floor in between Hermione's knees. He picked up her hand, and still looking at the floor, began to talk, while gently rubbing his thumb over it. "I was thinking... that... if you wanted to... we could try it. I mean, it would solve my run of bad girlfriends, and I could teach you about... well, stuff you might need to know." Ron paused. "You know, for when you... get a boy- er, relationship or such."

Hermione couldn't say a word. Ron was looking straight into her eyes now and she couldn't turn away. She had never felt more conflicting emotions at once in her life – eagerness and apprehension and desire and disgust, all crowding together; it made her feel light-headed.

Before she could say a word, Ron leaned even closer, so that Hermione could feel his warm breath on her face. Her dress was sticking to her back, the summer air not helping to cool the room at all.

Ron's deep blue eyes were boring right into her; Hermione couldn't have moved even if she had wanted to.

Slowly, he leaned his head even lower and brushed his lips against hers.

Fire shot through her entire body; she had never felt anything like it in her life.

_**...We borrowed heaven.**_

Soon, all too soon, Ron broke the contact. Though the kiss had lasted for barely more than five seconds, both of them were breathing a little deeper, a little harder.

Hermione looked at him, stunned.

Ron smiled slowly. "What do you say?"

In that moment, all of Hermione's inhibitions flew out the window. She forgot all the implications of what this would mean for them, for everyone around them, for anything except the fact that Ronald Weasley was so close to her that she could practically feel his heart beat through his shirt.

She smiled back. "I'm up for it if you are."

Ron let out a breath he seemed to be holding in and grinned. "Great, then!"

Before anything else could be said, or she could regain her senses, Hermione leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

Not missing a beat, Ron returned the kiss that quickly grew more passionate. He pulled her onto his lap so that her legs wrapped around his abdomen, her body pressed as close to him as she could get with clothes on. They continued to kiss fervently, Hermione running one hand through his hair with the other gripped his shoulder for balance. Ron had one hand pushing on the small of her back, the other caressing her upper thigh. Ron moved his head down to kiss her neck, allowing both of them to take a breath, and Hermione leaned back, encouraging him.

Suddenly the kisses stopped and Hermione looked down, a foreign and confused look gracing her flushed skin. Ron's blue eyes were staring deep into hers, making her feel weak at the knees (luckily, she was not standing up). He smiled mischievously and stood up, her legs still wrapped around his midriff, supporting her body weight with his arms. Hermione gasped at both the sudden movement and the surprising hardness accompanying the position change, where she was almost positive there hadn't been only a moment ago.

Ron leaned forward and kissed her, Hermione forgetting all else but his lips as he slowly walked them to her bedroom. She didn't notice where they were going, so lost in his kiss was she, until Ron bent down to lay her on the bed.

Hermione steeled herself for another interesting discussion, realizing what was likely to happen in the next few moments, and scooted further back onto the bed, giving Ron some room.

With a smile, Ron moved over so that he was lying on top of her, and they kissed again. Not for long, though, because Ron left her lips to trail kisses down her body, slowly inching her dress's hem over her stomach. As he reached his destination, and Hermione began to lose what little coherent thought remained after his ministrations, Ron slowly slipped her knickers off and gently pushed her legs apart to massage her with his fingers. Then he stopped moving completely, staring with a slightly horrified look on his face. Hermione sighed and braced herself for the questions she knew were coming.

Ron swallowed and looked up at her. "You're... you're a virgin, 'Mione?"

"Yes," she replied simply. "I told you I'd never had a serious boyfriend before. What did you think?"

Ron's gaze flicked back down and then turned to an unidentified spot on the far wall. "I dunno... I guess I thought that... maybe..." He trailed off, and Hermione realized what he might be implying. She pulled herself out of his reach and tugged her dress back over her knees, delicately tucking her legs underneath her.

"What, Ron? That I just go out and shag random men off the street? I never –" Ron's hand over her mouth stopped her before she could get into a rant; he had had a lot of practice in heading off her anger before it truly got started.

He sighed, his hand keeping her from intervening. "No, that's not what I meant. It didn't really register before, I guess. Bloody hell... you should have told me before."

Hermione brushed his hand away and said in defiant tone, "You didn't ask."

Ron kept looking at her intently, with perhaps a touch of regret on his face. "Yeah, well... maybe this isn't such a good idea after all... You want your first time to be with some... whatever. I'll just –"

It was Hermione's turn to put her hand over his mouth to keep him from talking. "No, Ron. I think it would be better for me to lose it to someone I... I trust, as opposed to some guy I don't know that well, or, well, something to that effect." She paused and took a deep breath. It had been close there for a moment. She had almost let slip her feelings towards him. "I still want to, if you do." 'Want to' was a bit of an understatement at that point.

**_Don't give it back, I've never felt so wanted_,**

Ron studied Hermione's face. For what, she wasn't quite sure. She tried to stay as impassive as possible, given the circumstances. Then he smiled his wonderful smile and moved towards her once more on the bed. He brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face and whispered, "I'll be gentle," with a hint of a growl buried deep in his voice. Hermione's breath caught in her throat as Ron kissed her again, and soon they were both lost in the heat and passion of the summer evening.

* * *

Back to her senses in the present, Hermione realized that she had stopped walking a while ago and was just standing on a street corner, leaning against a lamp, fantasizing about that night. Her face flushed an even deeper crimson when she realized that there were people staring at her as she stood there. Grinning embarrassedly, she ducked her head and continued walking back to her awaiting home, in the same state as always: Empty, with no one to welcome her back.

_**Are you taking me home?**_

She began to fade back into memories of later that night, when they were lying on the bed, tangled together with the sheets, starting to flow into sleep.

* * *

Ron's head was resting on her shoulder, buried in the crook of her neck. She could sense that he was moments away from slipping off into his dream world. "'Mione, I'm not sure we should tell anyone about this... I mean, it doesn't mean anything, right? But still... you can guess what they'd all say." He yawned sleepily.

Hermione continued to stare at the ceiling. The realization of what had just happened, and what all this meant, finally hit her like a cannonball. "Yeah, fine," she said, as calmly as she could manage, trying to keep the tears out of her voice.

Ron turned over on the bed so that he was lying on his back and murmured, "Good."

Hermione shifted so she could watch him to make sure he was sleeping, his chest rising and falling steadily. She couldn't keep the tears from leaking out of her eyes.

With a sad sniffle, she whispered, "Ron? Are you awake?" No response. "Ronald?" Nothing. _Good, he's asleep_. She moved over so that she was lying against him.

Hermione traced a finger sadly around his face and neck, through his messy red hair, her tears falling freely. She smiled through her tears. "I love you, Ronald Weasley. I always have and I always will." It was nothing more than a whisper; she could barely hear it herself. She had been hiding that for years, and now... _Now look at what you've done, you prat. You've agreed to have sex with the man you love who doesn't even know that you love him – _meaningless_ sex with your best friend who you just so happen be in love with. Bloody hell! You idiot. Plus he's leaving in a day..._

She lay her head down and fell into an uneasy sleep.

Hermione had spent the next day with Ron, alternating between helping him pack and making love whenever they had the chance. All of the logical part of her brain tried to dissuade her from continuing their "friends-with-benefits" relationship, but whenever his eyes looked deep into hers as if searching for something, or he accidentally brushed up against her, she forgot everything but him, almost as if she had no control over herself anymore, a feeling extremely foreign to her. She would never forget that night, after the good-bye party at the Burrow, when he asked her to walk him out to the door.

_**You tell me you have to go...**_

She was close to tears, for more reasons than Ron knew. They were standing there on the porch, and she was avoiding his gaze. Eventually, Ron tipped her face upwards, looking deep into her eyes and said, "I'll come back to visit you soon, okay?" She nodded tearfully, not noticing the emphasis he put on the word "you," at the time.

Hermione smiled, putting her best face forward, and gave him a brief hug. "Take care of yourself, Ron Weasley," she said before she wheeled around and walked briskly into the house, leaving him to stand out there, looking after her.

* * *

Back in the present again, Hermione realized there were actual tears sliding down her face. She sighed and continued walking; she had stopped again, this time by a park bench near her house.

She had thought about Ron a lot in the week after he had left, trying to figure out what she should do. By the weekend, Hermione had almost completely made up her mind to tell Ron that it was off the next time he came to see her. Little did she know that she wouldn't keep her mid-summer resolution.

That Saturday, a week and a half after that first night, Hermione was out walking in the park near her and Ginny's flat, trying to relax. The sun was shining and the weather still hot, perfect for taking a stroll.

_**In the heat of summer sunshine,

* * *

**_

She meandered down the path with no particular destination in mind, when suddenly a redheaded man appeared out of thin air directly in front of her. Hermione leapt back in surprise, but on realizing who it was, she grinned. Though, when she remembered her resolution, she sighed audibly.

Ron didn't seem to notice anything but the grin, and he wrapped her up in his arms, murmuring into her hair, "I couldn't stay away. I can only be here for a few hours, though – I was able to slip away when my boss wasn't looking." He pulled away to look into Hermione's eyes.

As she stood there looking at him, gazing into his deep blue eyes, feeling the press of his body against hers, she realized that her mind had been made up a long time ago on this subject, that her recent ponderings would never help her now. Hermione would never be able to refuse Ron anything he asked of her. No matter what her mind said, her heart and body ignored it and did what they knew she truly wanted. Deciding to continue with the greatest façade of a relationship she had ever experienced, Hermione smiled up at Ron. They made love in the park around ten minutes later, and then again back in Hermione's flat. Before Ron left, two hours after he had found her, they took a stroll together in the park.

The weather was the same, perhaps a little windier, but still sunny and warm, and they were walking along the path where Ron had burst in upon Hermione. He turned to her with a look of intense regret in his eyes and said, "I'll come back as soon as I can, okay?"

Hermione smiled; she was getting better and better at hiding her true feelings. "Sure, great. Don't work yourself too hard," she added with a forced laugh. Ron still looked upset; Hermione assumed it was because he didn't want to go back to work.

Nudging him lightly on the shoulder, she added with a chuckle, "If you don't make it back soon, don't worry – it isn't like we're going out or anything. I'm just your good ol' friend Hermione, right?"

Much to Hermione's confusion, Ron's frown deepened as he muttered, "Yeah... my friend..." so low that she could barely hear him. He quickly hitched up his smile and pecked her on her cheek. "Right, see you soon, then." With that, he Disapparated, the 'crack' resounding in the still dusk air.

Hermione stood there watching the spot where Ron had just been standing, tears pooling in her eyes. At the time, she didn't know how long it would take him to return again, but she had hoped it wouldn't be long – it had been bad enough when they weren't sleeping together, but now...

**_I miss you like nobody else_, _in the heat of summer sunshine,

* * *

_**

So lost in her thoughts was Hermione by this time that she had completely given up on trying to get back home and instead sat on a park bench; the same park, as a matter of fact, in which all that had happened.

The weather had changed abruptly while she walked. What had began as a cool evening was starting to turn into a warm twilight. A hot breeze blew around Hermione as she sat on the bench, contemplating the decisions that had led her to the present.

After those initial encounters, Ron would visit her once every couple of weeks; the only time he let anyone else know he was in town was during Christmas, when he stayed in London for five days to celebrate the holidays in the company of family and friends, Hermione included, of course. After most visits, he reminded her not to tell anyone, as if she ever would.

Harry and Ginny both knew about Hermione's feelings for Ron, but she was sure that they would never approve of this arrangement and would probably confront Ron about it, utterly humiliating her and ruining whatever she and Ron had, the little that it was.

Ron would come and they would make love, occasionally chatting about this and that if he had the time. And then he would leave, usually with nothing more than a "Goodbye," sometimes an accompanying kiss – and they were the only ones who knew.

**_I'll kiss you, and nobody needs to know_.**

Hermione sighed and watched a male duck in the pond a little ways off follow a female around. At seeing the female paddle away from the male as fast as she could, Hermione had to laugh. Ironic, how she could never seem to do something as simple as that: Paddle away from Ron.

_Well, maybe not paddle, exactly..._

Hermione had spent a lot of time before all this began thinking about Ron, but even after all that, he was almost always in her head. She initially had trouble concentrating at work (though it wasn't like she really needed to concentrate at her job in any case, as it wasn't the most challenging post), and McGonagall was constantly berating her for messing up on spells and lesson-teaching practice, things that normally required no effort for her to succeed. Though Hermione hadn't realized this the first time it had happened, being "friends-with-benefits" with Ron completely altered almost every other aspect of her life.

**_Now that you've left me, there's no returning_,**

Especially what was left of the romantic part of her life.

Because they didn't know the developments Hermione and Ron had in their "relationship," whenever they could, Harry and Ginny tried constantly to set her up with other men to help her "get over" Ron. Ginny was the worst of the two, since she lived with Hermione and it was harder to escape her.

Hermione usually avoided these meetings determinedly, mainly because it annoyed her to be set up. Now, however, if Ron had time to do more than fool around, he would ask how her love life had been improving. Of course it hadn't changed, but it embarrassed her to admit this to him and she hated lying, so Hermione started going on some of the dates Ginny and Harry set up for her. A few of them even progressed to the sixth date, and with two of them, who happened to be unusually attractive (by general standards) and catch her at moments of particular desperation, they had sex. Nonetheless, it ended up being meaningless sex, in every sense of the phrase. In the mornings, Hermione would wake up feeling ashamed, like it was wrong for some reason, and ended both relationships after only a few encounters. Plus, it didn't help that each of these guys was complete rubbish compared to when she and Ron made love. She rarely had an orgasm, and there was little to no true passion in it. All she wanted was Ron – who she had, but then at the same time, didn't have.

_**I keep comparing, you're always winning,**_

It took all she had in her not to cry all the time after she and Ron started this. The fact that he was in it solely because of lust was killing her. Hermione knew this from the start, but the awfulness of it kept growing inside her, like a tumor inside a rapidly decaying cancer patient.

Out of the past for a moment, Hermione couldn't help but start to cry as she gazed at the darkening sky. _It's too hard, but I know I'll never be able to change it. I just can't. Oh, bloody hell, now I'm crying... oh, I hate this part of it. This has to be the worst feeling in the world. I miss him so much, but even if he were here next to me, he'd still be a million miles away. _Hermione tried to hide her tears, unsuccessfully, from the people passing by. All she got from them were looks of pity and shakes of heads. _I love him so much it hurts._

**_I try to be strong but you'll never be more wanted_, _will you make me a home?_**

Without knowing it, Hermione's thoughts became words as she cried, speaking into the wind. "Is it too much to ask, for him to love me back? Too much to ask that he have even a fragment of real emotion more than friendship? We've been best friends for what, fourteen years now, and he's never shown anything other than friendship towards me... wait, no, and lust." She laughed through her tears. "Great, just great. Lust. That's what I want him to feel towards me. Well, okay, so the lust isn't bad... but I'd prefer love, if he has it in him somewhere. I want a _real_ relationship, damn it, not just sex!"

"Does this man know how you feel, child?"

Hermione jumped about a foot into the air as her head spun to see an elderly, white-haired Muggle woman sitting next to her on the bench. "Pardon?"

The lady laughed softly, her kind brown eyes twinkling. "This man who is hurting you, does he know how you feel about him?"

Hermione breathed deeply. "No. And I can't tell him. It would ruin what's left of our friendship."

The lady studied her, then sighed, only a trace of her smile left. "From what I heard of your soliloquy, I think it might be too late for that, dear." The woman looked down at her watch and adjusted her shawl around her shoulders before standing up gracefully. "Well, I'm off. I just stopped to rest my feet a moment. Good luck, child. And if I were you, I would really consider telling him the truth. I'm sure he can't read your mind, unless he's some kind of wizard or something." With a last kind smile, the lady walked regally away down the path into the park filled with other people. Soon she was lost amongst the trees.

Hermione could only stare after her. _Wizard or not, that man could never read my mind. She's right though... but I could never tell him. I can't. _A little voice in her head laughed at her. _Ah, so you were put in Gryffindor for nothing, then, eh?_ She shook her head. _Great, I'm still talking to myself. _The voice sniggered again. _Well, at least it isn't out loud this time. _Hermione rubbed her head, as if to force the thoughts away, looked down at her watch, and with a start, realized it was an hour and a half after she had been let out of work. Glancing quickly up at the sky, she discovered that it had become dark without her notice.

Hermione stood up determinedly and brushed away the tears that still remained on her cheeks. Despite all efforts to the contrary, though, her thoughts once again drifted to that irresistible red head.

It rarely occurred to her to try and stop him when he left. Once, though, after a particularly wonderful night of making love in every room of the flat except Ginny's (who happened to be at some other man's house, probably doing something similar with him), Ron had to leave very early in the morning.

_He was so cute, trying not to wake me up,_ Hermione mused, walking briskly towards the flat.

* * *

She had guessed what he was doing as she lay in bed, and reached out to grab his arm as he walked past. Ron had started, then looked both happy and upset at the same time to see her awake.

"I'm sorry, I was trying to let you sleep -"

Hermione hushed him and pulled him onto the bed next to her. She yawned sleepily. "Don't go yet."

Ron sighed. "I have to, they called me back early."

Hermione stumbled into a sitting position and ran a finger along his cheekbone and then through his hair. "Stay anyway, for me..."

_**Don't tell me you have to go...**_

Half asleep, she didn't realize that she was showing more of her true feelings towards him than she would normally allow of herself.

Startled at this show of tender affection, Ron sighed deeply and stared right into her eyes. Though she barely remembered it, as if it had been a dream, Hermione vaguely recalled seeing a look in his eyes that she had never seen him wear before. He bit his lip and pulled her to him in a warm embrace. "I'm sorry. You have no idea how sorry."

Hermione was lost in his scent, the feel of his breath against her neck, his hands pressed firmly on her back. Suddenly, he pulled away to stand up. Ron bent to pick up his bag, and with one last regret-filled look towards her, he Disapparated.

_**In the heat of summer sunshine, I miss you like nobody else,

* * *

**_

Hermione sighed deeply, still walking home. She wasn't even sure if it had happened, now that she thought about it... it could have just been due to her overactive imagination, and the fact that she dreamed about Ron a lot, whether he was there with her or not. The next thing she remembered from that morning was waking up to an empty bedroom, hearing Ginny banging around in the kitchen.

**_In the heat of summer sunshine, I'll kiss you, and nobody needs to know_.**

She turned a corner, on which was the first of three coffee shops on the same street, and nearly ran into some woman carrying a shopping bag. Hermione apologized profusely and helped the woman pick up anything she dropped. Hermione muttered to herself, "Ronald Weasley, you cause me more trouble than you're worth." She paused. _I take it back; you're worth every moment._

**_To sweet beginnings and bitter endings, in coffee city, we borrowed heaven_,**

She reached the door to her building, fumbling around for her keys. Her thoughts floated back over the fourteen years they had known each other, and bits and pieces of so many memories flashed through her mind. _A redheaded eleven-year-old boy with dirt on his nose... an arrogant redheaded fourteen-year-old boy accusing her of "fraternizing with the enemy"... a redheaded eighteen-year-old boy with his hands in the air shouting, "I made it! I got the marks to go into the Department of Mysteries!"… a redheaded twenty-two-year-old man laughing with her at a Muggle carnival... a red headed twenty-four-year-old man growling to her, "I'll be gentle…." _No, she wouldn't trade any of that for the world.

**_Don't give it back, winter is coming and I need to stay warm_.**

Hermione knew there would never be anyone else for her other than Ronald Weasley. For the moment, she would have to take what she could get.

After trudging up the stairs, she unlocked the door to her flat and threw her bag on the couch. Before doing anything else, she wiped a hand across her forehead and muttered, "Merlin, it's hot in here." The air immediately cooled down to a more bearable temperature at a wave of her wand.

_**The heat…**_

Hermione walked to her room in order to change out of her work clothes into something more comfortable. Upon opening the door, she saw something that made her smile bigger than she had in over two months. There, sitting on her bed, was none other than the man she had been thinking about for the past two hours straight – Ronald Weasley.

_**In the heat of summer sunshine, I miss you like nobody else,**_

He grinned and stood up to walk over to where she was standing to give her a hug. She smiled into his chest. "Hey, you."

He pulled back and she looked at him. He was slightly tan and looked fairly tired. A concerned look swept over his handsome, freckled face. "Had a rough day, 'Mione? You're three hours later than usual."

Hermione smiled. "Same, same, I was just a little delayed. How about you?"

Ron grinned. "Great, now I'm here with you. They let me off for the day. Actually I got here around four hours ago."

Hermione frowned. It was always a shame when the little spare time that he had was wasted, and she tried to tell him so. "You should have gone to visit Harry when I didn't come home. I hate to waste your fr–"

Ron stopped her by putting his hand over her mouth. "Forget it, you're here now. That's all that matters." They smiled at each other and Ron dipped his head down to lightly kiss her neck. "I hope you're free for the rest of the night..."

Hermione shuddered at the touch of his lips to her skin. Her mind was screaming at her to break away, run, that this wasn't helping anything, to stop it now, before it was too late – but it had been too late fourteen years ago, the moment she met him on the Hogwarts Express. She forced her mind to shut off, and let her heart and body take over. "You bet I am, Ronald Weasley," she growled quietly, and moved his head up to kiss him with all the fire she had in her.

**_I kiss you, and nobody knows_.**

Nothing could break that kiss. Not earth, wind, or fire would have been able to tear them apart as tongues explored mouths, almost as if there truly was no tomorrow – for all Hermione knew, there might not be.

The flat was slowly getting warmer again, despite the cooling spell Hermione had put on it five minutes ago.

_**In the heat of summer sunshine, I miss you like nobody else,**_

In a matter of seconds, all clothing was discarded, and Ron picked Hermione up to carry her to the bed, never breaking the earth-shattering kiss. They lay down, Ron on top of her, and Hermione could have sworn she was in heaven. Their lips never broke contact as Ron entered Hermione, both of them moaning into the other's mouths.

As she reached her climax, Hermione tightened around Ron, causing him to empty into her, their lips still working together, only unintelligible sounds of ecstasy to be heard from either. Ron slowly pulled out of Hermione, who put a hand up to keep his face where she could reach his lips. With one last kiss, Ron lay down next to her, head resting on her shoulder, stroking the side of her face and neck with his hand.

_**In the heat of summer sunshine, I'll kiss you…**_

They lay there together as their breathing returned to normal. Hermione smiled and ran a finger over his arm while gazing contentedly at the top of his red-haired head.

In that moment, Hermione decided one thing: For the next few hours, there was no wishing, no crying, no thinking, only her and Ron. Reality could wait.

_**...and nobody needs to know.**_


	2. When You Say You Love Me

Disclaimer: All the characters and their world belong to JK Rowling, while the song "When you say you love me" belongs to Josh Groban (super song, btw!)

* * *

Chapter 2: When you say you love me

Approximately three hours after Hermione had come home to find Ron sitting on her bed, the two of them were, yet again, lying tangled together in the sheets after some phenomenal sex. Hermione's head was resting comfortably on Ron's chest, rising and falling with his slowly regulating breathing. Ron closed his eyes and his thoughts flitted over and around that night. His surprise had worked out just as he had planned – or almost, anyway; he hadn't counted on her being late by three hours.

After the first time they made love that night, Ron led Hermione to the kitchen where he had prepared dinner for her. "Wow, Ron!" she breathed, gazing at the table laden with food. "You didn't need to do this!"

Ron grinned at her and pulled out her chair. "This is just part of my research on how to please girls. Note to self: Making a surprise dinner is well received."

Not noticing that Hermione's smile faltered at his mention of other girls, Ron motioned to her chair, indicating for her to sit down. He did, however, notice the big smile she flashed at him as she sat down, accompanied by a quiet, "Thank you, Ron." His heart skipped a few beats.

**_Like the sound of silence calling, I hear your voice and suddenly I'm falling, lost in a dream_.**

They ate peacefully, talking about what had happened in their lives since the last time they had met and what they hoped to happen in the future. For a few minutes, everything was like it had always been between them, quiet talking and gentle banter. They were simply two friends enjoying a meal together – well, aside from the fact that Ron was only wearing boxers, and Hermione was wearing the button-down shirt Ron had been wearing when he surprised her; it was quite large on her and hid her otherwise nakedness.

Ron's eyes flew open, and he was jerked back into the present as he felt Hermione shift next to him on the bed. Realizing that he had been lost in his thoughts for awhile now and it was almost time, Ron rapidly shut his eyes and slowed his breathing.

Soon, he felt Hermione raise her head slowly to look up at him, and heard her beautiful voice whisper, "Ron?" Luckily, after all these encounters, he had become quite skilled at faking sleep, and she didn't realize he was still very much conscious of everything she was saying. "Ronald? Are you awake?"

_**Like the echoes of our souls are meeting, you say those words and my heart stops beating... I wonder what it means.**_

Despite every nerve in his body arguing, Ron still didn't respond.

And, like every other time he had stayed for the night, soon Ron felt warm, wet drops splash onto his chest and felt rather than heard Hermione sigh as she laid her head back into the crook of his neck. "I love you, Ronald Weasley."

As Ron's eyes slowly opened, he assured himself that Hermione was drifting off to sleep and sighed inwardly, still not making any movement that might indicate his state of acute awareness.

Not once, in all the times that he had spent the night with Hermione, had he replied. Not once had he given any indication that he heard everything she said. Not once.

And Ron never could figure out why.

_**What could it be that comes over me? At times I can't move.**_

He remembered, like it had been only moments before, that first day his and Hermione's relationship had changed, that day he had walked into her apartment seeking an outlet for his anger in his sister and found the very last person he wanted to have any knowledge that he had any relationships at all. Ron's fingers played with the ends of Hermione's hair as he reminisced about how annoyingly sexy she looked in that practically see-through dress, asking him what was wrong.

* * *

He was lucky his mind was so frazzled with anger at the particular moment she moved into his line of vision, because otherwise, when his eyes flicked up to see her standing there, a fairly large embarrassment to them both would have shown itself rather abruptly. Fortunately, his annoyance at that thought alone put a look on his face that he was sure would mask any trace of a blush that might have crept up on him.

Ron had felt bad about practically ignoring her at first, but his mind immediately went into overdrive trying to figure out what he was going to do; the gorgeous girl he had had very strong feelings about for nearly a decade was standing in the same room as he was, wearing what could only be described as a very skimpy, very sexy, and very see-through summer dress.

_Damn it Ginny, the _one_ time I need to talk to _you_, you aren't here. _

Before he could control himself, Ron started pouring out all of the frustration he felt – promptly scaring Hermione so much she jumped about a foot into the air. _Nice move, jackass._ "Why do you girls have to be so bloody difficult? I mean, it isn't like the world revolves around you, does it? Bloody hell, I have a life too!" He had unintentionally included Hermione in the beginning of that statement, though it easily referred to his so-called love life as well. Realizing this and wondering if Hermione had caught on, Ron paused, trying to decide what to do next.

"Girl problems?" Hermione intruded with - what was that? - _amusement_, in her voice.

_Calm down, don't get annoyed! She's not really amused _at_ you..._ Ron thought rapidly, and sighing, nodded resignedly. _What the hell, you're here, might as well get it off your chest. She is still one of your best friends, no matter how sexy she is... or how beautiful..._.

He took in a deep breath, and began. "One minute, we were sitting on her couch, and then I said I was going away in two days for a couple of months. She asked when exactly I was getting back, and when I said I didn't know, she blew up at me, started ranting about fucking one night shit, or some other bloody ridiculous crap!" Ron realized he had gotten a little more worked up than he had intended and sucked in a large amount of air before returning his now mildly embarrassed gaze to the floor.

_Bloody hell…_.

Ron heard Hermione sigh and looked up, surprised to see quiet resignation in her tired eyes. "Ron, you should have told her ages ago that you would be leaving suddenly. I'd guess she thought you were having a bit of fun with her before you –"

Before Ron knew what he was doing, he broke out angrily - "Well what if I was! She doesn't need to know every bloody thing I..." - before realizing that he was yelling again. He grimaced sheepishly and then moved along the couch towards the chair, where Hermione was now sitting, as if he was confessing a deep secret to her (which he wasn't, though in his head it seemed as good an excuse to him as any to get closer to her). "Fine, maybe I should have, it's just that... with this job and all, I don't have the time for any sort of commitment that most girls are looking for, you know?" Ron sighed in exasperation, leaned back into the couch, and stared at nothing in particular, now absorbed in his thoughts.

_Prat. I can't believe you just told _Hermione_ what's wrong with your "love life." Lying to her too. You _know_ that isn't the real reason why you always end up dumping girls – or they end up dumping you_.

As he was thinking, Ron's eyes drifted over to where Hermione was sitting daintily on her armchair, lost in thought as she was gazing unconcernedly out the window.

His thoughts turned from anger to thinking how she looked, just sitting there as serenely and regally as a queen. Suddenly, part of a conversation he had heard between Seamus and Jack the other night at a pub floated into his head. His eyes flicked over to where Hermione sat. But, just as quickly, his eyes dropped back to the floor. _She would never... how could you even think of... bloody ridiculous_. However, just as he was about to dismiss the idea that conversation had planted in his head, he frowned in thought. _Would she? Just maybe?_ Ron proceeded to study her intently, wondering if maybe, just maybe...

Right then, Hermione looked back at him, having come out of her reverie, and caught him staring at her curiously.

Lost entirely in thought, Ron continued to look at her. _Just maybe..._.

"What are you looking at, Mr. Weasley?"

Hermione's mildly amused voice brought Ron out of his head, and he realized she was now wondering why he was staring at her. In the days and months to come, Ron would wonder what had made him so confident - maybe he was drawing it from the ample supply she always surrounded herself with, or perhaps it was that she looked so beautiful that his heart and body started to take control of him - but what ever it was, he would never have guessed, previous to this day, that he would end up suggesting this to Hermione.

"Have you even just wanted to... you know... be able to do things... with someone you felt comfortable with, but... then not have to worry about commitment or a relationship afterwards?" Ron asked this quietly; he wasn't sure why. Maybe he was afraid that if he said it louder it would scare her off.

"I can't say I've ever thought about it. Why?"

Ron moved closer as she was speaking, and was pleased to see that when he leaned his legs against hers, she jumped slightly and then tried to hide her reaction. Not that this hadn't had any effect on him, mind; actually touching Hermione, and feeling the heat coming off her in waves, brought some very pleasant and uncalled for images to run through his head.

In order to calm himself down and offer himself some support, Ron leaned his head on his hand, all the while still staring at Hermione carefully.

But before he could act on any of these many thoughts, he had to confirm a suspicion that he had long had, one that would cement his decision in his actions of the next few minutes. "Have you ever had a boyfriend?"

Hermione sniffed, and Ron could tell she was insulted. He had predicted that this would be her initial reaction to the question, but he had to know. Otherwise he wouldn't have any real excuse for what he might be proposing. "Well, not that it's any of your business, but I have had a couple, none that have been serious at all, though."

Ron had not really heard all of that, as his thoughts kept returning to her delicate legs brushing against his, but he had heard enough to get the drift of what she was saying: No.

_Perfect_.

"Hmm..." Ron decided that he was going to try it. After all, this may be the only chance he ever got to be with her. "I've heard some of the guys at work talk about something called, er, 'friends with benefits,' which is where you... well, _fool around_ with a friend, and it's simply that – fooling around. No relationship to worry about." He had hoped that Hermione would pick up on what he was suggesting, letting him avoid the unpleasant task of spelling it out.

His hopes were not realized, however, as Hermione, who seemed to be quite confused (much to _Ron's_ confusion), replied, "So?"

Ron dropped his gaze to the floor, trying to figure out how to phrase what he was trying to say without sounding completely chauvinistic and idiotic. "I was thinking... that... if you wanted to... we could try it. I mean, it would solve my run of bad girlfriends, and I could teach you about... well, stuff you might need to know." Ron paused. He really didn't want to say the rest of this – he had always hated the thought of Hermione going out with anyone but him, for obvious reasons. "You know, for when you... get a boy- er, relationship or such." _Git, why couldn't you have just said it? Oh well, just wait for what she says. Please agree!_

But Ron couldn't take the tension that had weaved itself thickly between them, and he did something he had only ever dreamed about.

Languidly, he bent down so that he was looking Hermione right in the eyes, staring at the intensity and beauty of those chocolate pools. Refusing to put it off any longer, Ron lowered his head, just enough so that he could brush his lips softly against hers.

Fire shot through his entire body. Never before, in his entire life, had he felt anything like this.

_**At times I can hardly breathe.**_

Afraid she would still say no, Ron regretfully pulled away from Hermione to look her in the eyes, noticing that they were both breathing quite deeply for such a short kiss.

Taking the final plunge, Ron smiled and whispered, "What do you say?"

Despite all outward appearances, Ron couldn't help but still think that she would slap him and hex him into oblivion. Therefore, Ron couldn't help but feel a huge wave of relief as Hermione smiled back and replied quietly, "I'm up for it if you are."

Ron released the breath that he had been holding. "Great, then!"

And just as he was about to attempt to figure out what they were going to do to arrange this from now on, Hermione surprised him by leaning in and pressing her lips firmly to his. Not wanting to give her the wrong impression, Ron returned the kiss fervently, pulling her onto his lap; Hermione never missed a beat, and continued to kiss Ron the way he had longed to be kissed by her for over a decade. So lost in her kiss was he, that Ron forgot all else around him, forgot all inhibitions, forgot that they technically shouldn't be doing this – all he knew was that he wanted to keep kissing her forever.

* * *

Hermione shifted in her sleep, disturbing Ron from his fantasy, reminding him where he truly was. He sighed, his pleasant fantasies disturbed with his troubled reality. Gazing at the top of her brown-haired head, Ron's memory of that first night fast forwarded to after the first time they had made love.

* * *

They were lying tangled together, very similar to the way they were in the present, and Ron had been pleasantly tired. He remembered closing his eyes, assuming that Hermione would be asleep soon, but because he was so drowsy, the details of those first five or ten minutes of lying silently and comfortably in bed together were fairly fuzzy. Ron supposed he must have dozed off, because the next thing he remembered was Hermione's first tears sliding down his chest. His immediate reaction was, _Wait, what did I do now? Why is she crying?_ but before he could move to comfort her and ask what was going on, Hermione sighed, and those words that would continue to haunt him all that night, and most of the nights afterwards, slipped from her lips.

"I love you, Ronald Weasley. I always have, and I always will."

**_When you say you love me, the world goes still, so still inside_,**

He froze. His thoughts whirled around and around in his mind, and all notion of getting to sleep had been lost.

_Am I still asleep? ...No, I can feel her tears on my chest, I can hear her breathing, I can feel the roughness of the sheets and the smoothness of her skin, this must be real…_ _what… how..._. He said nothing more out loud that night, though he lay awake until the sun rose, just thinking.

* * *

In the present, Ron shifted his position so he could look at Hermione's now-peaceful face. He traced one finger lightly across the shape of her cheekbone and sighed. He loathed himself for not being able to say anything when she told him how she felt (not knowing he heard, of course), and for making her cry about him. _I'm not worth all this_, Ron thought bitterly. _I don't deserve her tears_.

He had thought this a million times for every one time he had come to visit Hermione for the night and heard her say those wonderful words; yet he kept coming back for more.

Every night he stayed, he made himself stay awake until she said those words, those wonderful words, yet was never able to make himself respond, no matter how much he wanted to.

The problem was that whenever Hermione uttered those five little words, all the muscles in his body froze, and his mind blanked out every sense in his body except his hearing, and only to hear her. Whenever she said those words, he forgot all the logic and sense he had learned in his twenty-five years on Earth, and she was all he could see, all he wanted, all he could be, all he heard; all he knew was her.

_**And when you say you love me, for a moment, there's no one else alive.**_

As he lay here, he wondered when he had realized what he really felt for Hermione. _Was there I time when I didn't feel this way?_ He grinned wryly. _Bugger that... hmm... when did I finally _admit_ I feel this way?_ His mind slowly ran over the fourteen years they had known each other, and his thoughts fell upon one winter day in their sixth year.

Ron smiled, still petting Hermione's sleeping, brown-haired head affectionately. _I remember now... of course..._.

* * *

_Bloody snow, bloody cold_... were one sixteen year old Weasley's thoughts as he stomped in from Quidditch practice in the middle of January. _We have a game tomorrow, and we can't even bloody practice well. Should cancel it, should reschedule, but _nooo_, bloody Captain had to make us practice until our bloody bollocks fall off. Bloody Harry_...

Harry had become the official Captain of the Gryffindor team when they entered their sixth year at Hogwarts, though it ended up that Ron was his unofficial co-captain because he was the best at plotting strategies, and Harry often came to his Keeper, and best friend, for help.

Ron stormed through the castle's hallways, not once feeling the slightest guilt that he had just taken off from the practice even before Harry had officially ended it. _He'll probably yell at me once he gets in here, but bugger that, I rather _like_ having all my body parts_.

Still fuming, Ron stopped briefly in front of the Fat Lady ("_Veritas._" "Whatever you say, dearie.") before traipsing into the warm and inviting common room. He was only a step or two inside the room when he did a double-take. _Wait a tick... where the bloody hell is everyone?_ Glancing at the clock on the wall (which not only told the time, but the date, the weather, and the temperature – it was -20 degrees Celsius outside), he swore inwardly. _Dinner... of course. I'm gonna bloody _kill_ Harry!_

Ron walked forward a few more furious steps when he noticed he wasn't actually alone in the common room – there were quiet sobs coming from the couch in front of the fireplace. _I think I've heard those sobs before_... But before Ron could say a word, or even turn his head to look towards the couch, he heard his sister's voice say soothingly, "I know, Hermione, I know... he's a git... you can't help it."

At this, Ron's temper became even more inflamed, and his head turned in the direction of the couch so quickly that he looked as if he had got whiplash. "Who is he and _what_ did the bloody prat do to Hermione!"

One red-haired head whipped around so fast that her long hair probably would have caused serious pain to whoever got in its way, and another brown-haired head shot up from where it had obviously been resting on the couch. Upon realizing who it was standing there, Ginny rolled her eyes and proceeded to glare at her older brother. "None of your business."

Hearing this, Ron stalked over to stand in front of the couch and tower menacingly over the two girls. He was about to tear into a solid tirade, telling his sister that yes, in fact, it was very much his business, when he saw the look on Hermione's face. Ron stopped, mouth still open from the speech he had been about to make, at seeing such unhappiness in her eyes. Of course, he had seen her cry tons of times (usually because of him, though he was reluctant to admit that), but never had he seen her eyes reflect such suffering before. In that moment, all he wanted to do was lean over and hug her, kiss and comfort her, and worry about pummeling whatever git had made her feel like this at a later date. Before he could re-evaluate all that he had just thought, in a voice he had never heard himself use, he addressed Hermione. "What happened?"

_Where in the bloody hell did all that come from? _He swallowed, ignoring this strange feeling that was gnawing at his stomach and was slowly inching its way towards his heart.

Both girls looked utterly flabbergasted, and Ron was slightly insulted at their incredulous looks. _What? I can't be thoughtful? I can't care how my girl... eh, my friend... wait, where the bloody hell did _that_ come from!_

Coming out of his bemused stupor, shaking away whatever confusing thoughts were rapidly infiltrating his mind, he noticed Hermione was looking sadly back at him. "Nothing, Ron." He frowned, his eyes falling on the traces of fresh tears on her face that were very evident. "It's nothing, really."

Ron moved his gaze back to her brown eyes, where he could still see that irrepressible sadness threatening to well over again. "No, it's not bloody nothing, you've been crying! And I want to know why." At that, he sat down on the table across from the couch the two girls were sitting on and waited for the explanation that had better be coming.

Ginny rolled her eyes and stood up, pulling Hermione with her. "Ron, leave her alone. And don't swear. C'mon Hermione."

Ron stood up to protest, but before he could get a word in edgewise, Ginny pulled Hermione roughly towards the end of the couch that was in the direction of the girls' dormitories, successfully making Hermione trip over the carpet. Instinctively, Ron reached out and caught her before she completely fell onto the floor.

When he helped her to straighten up, their faces only around a foot apart, since Ron was still slightly bent over from keeping Hermione steady, Ron searched her eyes, a worried frown creasing his forehead. "You sure you don't want to talk about it, 'Mione?" So distracted by the tears that seemed to be welling up in her eyes again, Ron didn't even realize that he had shortened her name.

She hesitated and seemed to be deliberating something before she slowly shook her head. Just then, Ginny called, "Hermione!" and began to stomp back to where the two of them were by the couch, and Ron and Hermione briefly glanced towards her before returning their gaze to each other.

In those ten seconds, just standing there with Hermione, looking into her eyes, a million repressed feelings, emotions, and thoughts made themselves rapidly apparent to Ron. Among them, the one that stuck out the most, was the sudden urge to lean over that measly foot and press his lips lightly to hers – _maybe it would make her feel better_, that part of his mind claimed. He was so close even, all logic seemed to have been knocked out of him with that fall _she_ had had, that he was bending down a few centimeters...

Which was precisely when Ginny, wonderful girl that she is, came swooping in and pulled Hermione harshly away from him. Ron's mouth opened in surprise as Hermione was practically dragged away from him. Before she could be pulled up the girl's staircase, though, she turned around for a fraction of a second and whispered so quietly he could barely hear her, "It's nothing," before being pulled away by Ginny.

Gathering his senses back, Ron stood there, mouth again hanging wide open. _What the bloody hell was I about to do?_ His thoughts were whirling about in his head so fast he felt as if he was falling, and he gripped his broom extra hard, as if it were his anchor to reality.

Suddenly, a very annoyed Harry Potter came bursting through the portrait hole, bellowing at the top of his lungs, "_WHY THE BLOODY HELL DID YOU JUST DISAPPEAR LIKE THAT? YOU MAY BE MY BEST FRIEND, BUT YOU CAN'T JUST BLOODY LEAVE THE PRACTICE WHENEV-_" But Ron wasn't listening.

Ron didn't hear a word of what Harry said until ten minutes later, when Harry socked Ron in the arm, quite hard, in order to "get his head out of the bloody clouds." All Ron could think about were her lips, and how much he had suddenly wanted to feel what it would be like to press his own against them. About how all he wanted was to make her stop crying, to hold her, and to never let her go.

* * *

Ron sighed, marveling at how stupid he had been at Hogwarts. The significantly idiotic thing about that night was that it was just the first time he actually admitted to having feelings about her. That night, back in the dorms, he had spent hours finally coming to terms with the fact that he had frighteningly strong feelings for his best friend and, after a few more hours, realized that he had had these feelings for some time now, since possibly second or third year, even.

_How could I ever feel this way about anyone else?_ Ron thought sadly, continuing to stroke Hermione's hair, gazing at the patterns the milky-white moonlight made across her sleeping face.

_**You're the one I've always thought of; I don't know how, but I feel sheltered in your love.**_

He had spent the next year at Hogwarts attempting to work up the courage to talk to her about whatever it was he felt, to no avail. After trying to begin the conversation at least a million times, and never succeeding in continuing it further than "Uh... I... er, I-" _like you as much more than a friend!_ "I..." _want to spend the rest of my life with you and spend our days making love by the fireplace and then have lots of babies!_ "I... have to go to the bathroom" (he was fairly sure that Hermione was convinced he had a stomach problem), Ron gave up.

_Stupid arse... _He couldn't help but let his memory return to that day when Ron lost hope for anything ever happening between the two of them.

* * *

It was a week before the Commencement Ball in their seventh year. Ron had spent the last three weeks, from the moment they put up the announcement about when the Ball was happening until this moment, trying to work up his courage to just _ask_ Hermione to the Ball. He had spent hours propositioning his mirror... upon which Harry walked in once, though he luckily didn't hear the name of the girl Ron was pretending he was talking to. That didn't save Ron from hours of embarrassment and teasing, but it did save him from having to explain to Harry that he was head over heels for their mutual best friend.

Finally, A.H. Day – Ask Hermione Day – arrived, and Ron walked shakily down the staircase leading from the boys' dorms to the common room, narrowly avoiding falling down them and shattering the bare amount of confidence he had managed to work up. _Ok, just do _exactly_ what you've been practicing, and you'll be fine.…_ An evil little voice whispered back, _But what if she says no_? Shaking himself of that loathsome thought, Ron stopped at the entrance to the common room and blinked his eyes a few times. _Why's she talking to Dean_?

There, standing in the middle of the common room, were Dean and Hermione. And standing much too close for Ron's comfort, at that. After around thirty seconds of watching them, Ron saw Dean grin and walk away and Hermione stand there looking after him. Ignoring the rush of blood surging through his head, Ron attempted to walk casually up to Hermione, still hoping to put his plan into action – right after seeing what the hell Dean had been talking to _his_ Hermione about.

Sauntering up to her, Ron tried to sound casual as he asked, "So... what the bloody hell was Dean talking to you for?" _Smooth mate, reeaal smooth_. As Ron saw the look she was wearing, it took all his self control not to go over to Dean and punch his nose in. Never before had Ron seen a look of such pleasantly surprised happiness on Hermione's face.

It took her a minute to get her head out of the clouds, but when she did, Hermione did a double take at seeing Ron standing there, probably looking like he had just swallowed some rancid Polyjuice Potion. "Sorry, what did you say, Ron?"

Ron tried not to sound as if he had just swallowed his heart as he ignored the sinking feeling that was slowly seeping through his body, and managed to say with relative calm (well, relative meaning he didn't scream at her), "Why the bloody fucking hell was Dean talking to you?"

Conspicuously ignoring his choice of language, Hermione gazed back in the direction Dean had walked off, and said with an air of happy wonderment, "Well, he just asked me to the Ball, actually."

The wind was knocked out of Ron as he felt his heart clench somewhere in his midriff, being beaten painfully by the hoard of butterflies that seemed to have taken ahold of his stomach. "So... er, what did you tell him?"

A flicker of something like triumph flitted through Hermione's eyes so fast Ron thought he must have imagined it, and she calmly replied, "Oh, I said I'd love to, naturally."

Ron felt as though he had been dipped in a vat of burning cold water. "Naturally..." he muttered.

He must have stood there looking at her for some time, because when Hermione turned back to him her brows were furrowed in worry. "Ron? Are you alright? You look ill..."

Ron snapped to attention at the sound of her voice and, after frowning and studying her face for another moment, was only able to force two words out of his mouth. "I'm fine." _Not like you would honestly care anyway, why don't you go snog your new boyfriend, Dean, eh?_ But before he could say the words on the tip of his tongue that would really get him into trouble, he turned sharply and walked calmly back to the dorms, not allowing the smallest trickle of emotion to infiltrate his face until he was enclosed within the canopy covers of his bed.

Once a silencing charm was in place and he was seated comfortably on the soft sheets, Ron yelled as loud as he could, pouring all of his frustration, anger, and other emotions into the air, trying to get them as far away from him as possible. Of course it didn't work. All he achieved was a sore throat.

After pounding his pillows and screaming obscenities for around half an hour, Ron fell back onto his bed, limp and empty. All he felt now was utter and complete heartache. _I'll never be good enough... there'll always be someone else, someone who's smarter, handsomer, stronger, quicker, funnier, better than me. She'll never see me as more than her comic relief, someone to pour her anger out to when she needs an outlet, someone to tutor when she wants to feel superior... 'cause she'll always be superior. But I don't mind that she's superior, that's what I think ultimately attracts me to her... it's that she'll never see me the way I see her. I'll never have her_.

And that's when he knew. He'd never be good enough, no matter how hard he tried, no matter much he felt for her, he'd always be hers, and she'd never be his... and that's when Ron surrendered to the truth.

_**You're where I belong.**_

He had to let her go.

The next day, when Ron finally emerged from the dormitory, he saw Dean sitting quite close to Hermione on the couch, and he snapped and pulled Parvati aside to ask her to the Ball. She, to add to his humiliation, politely told him she was already going with some bloke from Hufflepuff. _Figures_. Ron sighed and went out to fly around the Quidditch pitch. No one saw him again for three hours, when he reemerged in the common room looking extremely windblown and pink in the face. He didn't say a word to anyone, he simply walked up to the dorm and enclosed himself in the warm seclusion of his bed again. This time, however, he couldn't feel a thing as he lay down and fell into a deep sleep, despite the fact that it was barely dusk and he was missing dinner again.

That next Saturday was probably the third worst night of Ron's life (the first being that particular night a week previous to this, the second being the one in second year when he and Harry faced Aragog and his little friends). He hadn't intended on going at all, but Harry managed to drag Ron along anyway, dateless (_If I can't go with the one girl I want, what's the point in going at all?_ was what he kept telling himself, though he never uttered those words out loud).

As Ron walked into the Great Hall, he noted that it was arranged just as it was in their fourth year for the Yule Ball. He was wearing deep blue robes that Fred and George gave him that year for Christmas - for some reason, all they ever seemed to give him since they opened their joke shop were dress robes, and of course some of their not-yet-patented merchandise - and though he had attempted to get his hair tamed, his red locks still managed to be messy upon entering the Ball. It seemed that he was the only one who didn't have a date; Harry had obviously managed to get one - some very pretty girl in their year from Ravenclaw who Ron had seen around school. Seamus and Lavender were, without question, going together – they had been dating since mid-sixth year. Oddly enough, even Neville had asked Ginny to go with him again, though Ron's thoughts were too distracted to think about anything... except _her_.

He and Harry, with Harry's date, had managed to get to the Hall before Hermione, and it seemed to Ron that time stopped, along with his heart, as she stepped in the large doors, one hand on Dean's arm. She was wearing champagne colored robes, and her hair was not pulled back, but fell loosely around her shoulders in large curls (he remembered her later lamenting how long it took for Lavender to help her get the curls to stay like that, and the number of spells she had tried before getting it to look right). Ron staggered back a few steps into one of the tables as she caught sight of him and Harry and waved, smiling. It wasn't just that she was had arranged her outfit and style to look perfect on her, it was her _smile_, her perfect, beautiful smile, that did Ron in. She dragged Dean towards them, but before he could do or say anything stupid, Ron turned around and fled to the refreshment table, mumbling something in Harry's direction about being thirsty. Ron spent the rest of the night in the corner of the room, not dancing or talking to anyone, avoiding Hermione especially. After a couple of failed attempts at conversation, Harry quit trying to cheer Ron up and left him alone, figuring they'd talk after the Ball.

Ron couldn't tear his eyes away from her, dancing in Dean's arms, laughing, smiling, and talking to him. _I should be up there with her, she should be in my arms, laughing with me, smiling with me, talking to me, kissing me_... _WHAT!_

There, right in the middle of the dance floor, Dean had leaned down to press his lips to Hermione's. Ron felt as if he was going to collapse right there in the Great Hall; his heart was being ripped to shreds, and he didn't see how he'd ever pick up the pieces.

He couldn't move, couldn't help but continue to look at her as her eyes widened in surprise, but then after darting around, quickly closed, Hermione actually seeming to _enjoy_ kissing him.

Ron had seen enough. He couldn't take it anymore and, tearing his eyes away from the most devastating sight he could ever remember seeing at that particular moment, was very close to running out of the Great Hall. But two feet from freedom, right before he could get out the doors, a small hand tapped him on the shoulder. Dreading who might be behind him, Ron turned slowly around to reveal the one person he could barely stand to look at and at the same time couldn't get enough of. Hermione smiled up at him, her cheeks flushed. "You're leaving already? Don't I get at least one dance? We do graduate in a week, after all."

Breathing somewhat heavily - he had walked rather quickly to get to the doors, plus she was standing unusually close to him - Ron didn't know what to do, so he settled for being his old, jealous self. "Won't your boyfriend be upset you're dancing with me?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and said, as if she were explaining building blocks to a two-year-old, "For one, he isn't exactly my boyfriend, and two, of course he wouldn't. Dean knows we're just best friends."

Ron had never thought those words would ever hurt him as much as they did. '_Just best friends... best friends... we're just best friends_...' They echoed through his head over and over again, like some sort of evil mantra. He felt incredibly dizzy and hardly noticed when Hermione seized his hand and pulled him out to the dance floor.

Abruptly, she turned around and placed her hands lightly on his shoulders and smiled up at him. Afraid he might do something stupid, Ron nervously licked his lips and put his hands on her waist, trying to keep as much distance between them as possible. Pushing his thoughts away from the fact that he was dancing with _Hermione_, the girl who should have been _his_ date, Ron focused on the music. Just as he noted that it was thankfully a decently fast paced song, the band changed to a much slower tempo, and he noticed all the dancers moving closer to their partners.

Ron, unable to keep his blush in check, flushed red to the tips of his ears. As he was about to mutter something about going to find Dean for her, Hermione took a step closer to him, wrapping her arms as far around his neck as they could go.

Ron realized there wasn't anything he could do – his mind was screaming to get away from her as fast as possible, before it was too late, before he did something inappropriate that ruined their friendship, but his body and his heart wouldn't listen. So he wrapped one arm tightly around her waist, bringing her even closer to him, and the other on her upper back, leaving her head to rest on his chest.

At that moment, there was nowhere Ron would have rather been. The scent of her vanilla perfume was muddling his senses, the feel of her small body pressed against his was intoxicating, and the very fact that she was so close to him that he could count the hairs on her head made him giddy. Ron closed his eyes and rested his chin on the top of her head, willing this moment to never, ever end, hoping that he would never have to let her go again.

**_And when you're with me, if I close my eyes, there are times I swear I feel like I can fly_, _for a moment in time_,**

But he did. The song ended, and she pulled away from him to look into his face, unshed tears sparkling in her eyes, mirroring those of his own that he was refusing to let escape. All he could whisper was, "Congratulations, 'Mione." She smiled at him before her expression became serious, and she opened her mouth to speak.

In that moment, Dean came up and, grinning at her like a lovesick puppy, pulled her away to get some punch. Hermione turned around, and called back to Ron over the music, "Congratulations, Ron."

He turned and fled from the Hall, not caring who saw him running away from that room as if it was on fire, not caring about anything at that moment except getting to his bed before the tears escaped their prison and fell onto his pillow like a summer rainstorm.

* * *

Lying on the bed with Hermione, out of his memories, the twenty-five-year-old Ron brushed away the one tear that had forced its way out of his eyes. _Stupid, stupid_.

As he lay there, still stroking her hair, going over that particular memory, he realized that was the second time someone had pulled her away from him. He wondered aimlessly if there was always going to be someone there to pull her away from him. _Not when no one knows you're together_...

It was three days after the Ball that Harry had had his final encounter with Voldemort, and the three of them had been lucky to get out of it alive. That night, despite the mortal danger that they all faced, Ron and Harry had sustained only minor injuries, while Hermione had ended up unconscious in St. Mungo's for a week.

Ron had refused to leave her bedside the whole time, except to go to the bathroom - he would transfigure food from the pieces of gum he kept with him or eat what people brought him when they visited - and once when his mum had hexed him and carried him to his bedroom to make him sleep. It was actually the night that he had been forcibly removed from her side when Hermione had woken up, and Ron had been both furious and ecstatic at the same time. He couldn't ever remember being happier that someone who wasn't a blood relative of his was alive. Luckily, she had recovered enough to graduate with the rest of them a week later, the head of their class, of course. As Head Girl, she had made a speech that moved half of the audience to tears.

A smile tugged at Ron's mouth at the image of McGonagall wiping her eyes on her robes.

As the Golden Trio had stood together that day for pictures in their Commencement robes, Ron couldn't ever remember being prouder of the three of them – they had made it through everything, together.

Ron frowned and slowly leaned over to his wallet that he saw had somehow landed on the floor next to the bed - _Must have flown out of my pants pocket the first time around_, he mused pleasantly - trying to avoid disturbing the beautiful woman lying next to him. Once he had the wallet in his grasp, he opened it and smiled. Yes, just as he had thought, there was the photograph he was looking for, tucked away in the back.

It was the most treasured picture he had of the two of them. He had put an _Infini_ Charm on it so that it would never be ripped or decimated in any way. The picture had been taken on their Graduation Day, just Ron and Hermione, hugging after they had officially graduated. What he loved about it was that for one moment, he had managed to put all of his feelings for her aside, and they were just two friends, happy to be finally out of school, to be finally recognized as adults.

_Look at us now_, Ron mused ruefully. _I would have been ecstatic back then to get a kiss on the cheek from her, and here we are... like this..._. He had to work hard to suppress bitter laughter – he had imagined his seventeen year old reaction if someone had told him that in eight years he would be lying naked in a bed with Hermione Granger, his best friend and secret crush, after having just done what, back then, had been restricted to his nighttime fantasies.

Ron pulled himself from his insomniac-like dreams to gaze again at the angel sleeping next to him, who was completely unaware of his feelings. Sometimes Ron wished that time could just stop for an hour and he could tell her everything he thought of her, everything he'd felt for her in the past nine years, everything he wished to happen between them in the future. How when they made love it wasn't just because of lust, how it meant so much more to him than that, how she meant so much more to him than any person alive ever could.

**_Somewhere between the Heavens and Earth... frozen in time_,**

And after that hour was up, all that had always been would go back to being, and she wouldn't remember it. He just didn't have the courage to actually say it. _Some Gryffindor, eh?_ that nasty little voice in the back of his head sniggered. Ron ignored it and continued to fantasize about that moment when he would finally be able to tell her all that he felt for her.

Unfortunately, he wasn't sure exactly what kept him from telling her what he felt. He never doubted how she might feel about him; he had heard her say it enough times. It was actually those five little words that, though they should make him deliriously happy, made him the unhappiest. He was just never sure why.

"_I love you Ronald Weasley_," her melodious voice echoed through his head, haunting him, taunting him. Why couldn't he just tell her?

**_Oh when you say those words... when you say you love me, the world goes still, so still inside_,**

There had even been that one time when she had told him without words how she felt... and Ron had practically died from aching to tell her. _I had never wanted to leave less in my life_...

* * *

It was one morning during their eleven month... affair? Ron wasn't sure what to call it anymore... an arrangement? Agreement? It didn't really matter, anyway.

In any case, he had received a call while they were sleeping in her room after yet another wonderful night of being together. Ron had managed to get dressed without making too much noise, but as he was trying to find his shoes and socks - _Funny how those things fly off in all directions when you're trying to get out of them as fast as possible_, he mused pleasantly - he knocked over a lamp and, in trying to pick it up, stubbed his toe.

"Bugger..." he whispered in pain, looking quickly over to see if he had disturbed Hermione. He was trying not to wake her, because the night before they had stayed up later than usual talking before making love one last time and then dropping into bed. And as had become some sort of tradition, Hermione had whispered those five small, insignificant, amazing words to him before she went to sleep, thinking he was already out like a light.

_**And when you say you love me, for a moment, there's no one else alive.**_

After she had whispered them, though, she had stayed up for longer than usual, letting tears drop onto his bare chest, just tracing her fingers along and around his face and looking at him - or at least, that was Ron guessed she was doing; he had naturally stayed motionless throughout all of this, with his eyes firmly closed. Ron wasn't sure what had made her want to study him for so long last night in particular, but he wasn't going to argue. Even if she didn't know he was awake, he adored just being near her.

Ron reckoned she must have stayed like that for around twenty minutes. The whole time he had been thinking, _I'm not worth crying over for twenty minutes... or any amount of time for that matter_. He wasn't ever really sure what came over him, but he had suddenly decided that he couldn't stand her crying over him any more – he was going to tell her exactly how he felt about her.

As Ron had shifted and made to open his eyes, he'd heard Hermione emit a startled gasp, and then came the words that had killed any confidence he might have worked up: "Oh no! Please don't wake up, please, please don't wake up!"

Luckily, Ron had thought quickly and rolled over, pulling Hermione close to his chest, and mumbled sleepily, "The Potions essay isn't due for another week yet. Leamme 'lone..." _Well, that's that. I'm officially never going to be able to tell her how I feel now_.

Ron had heard Hermione sigh with relief, felt her snuggling closer to him, and eventually could tell that she had drifted off to sleep. He had tried not to dwell on why she hadn't wanted him to wake up, and let himself fall asleep too. Nonetheless, it had been very late by then, and the next morning Ron didn't want to give Hermione another reason to sleep less, so he was being as quiet as possible.

However, it was obviously not quiet enough, because once he had found and put on his socks and shoes, he walked past her side of the bed to grab his wand and felt a small hand grab tightly onto his arm. He turned to see Hermione smiling sleepily at him.

As usual, her smile made him weak at the knees, but Ron frowned nonetheless, upset that he had woken her up. "I'm sorry, I was trying to let you sleep.…" But he never finished what he was saying, because Hermione pulled him down to sit next to her on the bed, effectively stopping his speech.

She yawned, eliciting a small smile from Ron, her eyes still heavy with sleep. "Don't go yet..."

Ron's face flushed with reluctance, and he sighed deeply. "I have to... they called me back early." _Believe me, if I could, I would stay… forever, if you'd let me_. Ron left that part of his sentence unsaid, of course.

A grin softly spread across Ron's face as he watched her move clumsily into a sitting position so that she was able to look at him directly. He was surprised to see so clearly into her eyes, which were normally guarded like the Philosopher's Stone itself; not only could he see the fog of sleep reflected in them, but plain, clearly distinguishable, love... adoration, even. Ron started when she traced his cheekbone delicately with her fingertips and then ran her hand through his fire-red hair, which really hadn't changed at all over the years. "Stay anyway, for me..." Her voice came across as husky, clearly weighted down with sleep, yet soft, and like music to his ears.

Ron was floored. Oh, how he wanted in that moment, more than anything in the world, to tell her that he loved her and wanted to stay with her until the day he died. But the logical part of his mind took precedence this one time, and he looked regretfully back into her eyes. He hoped that maybe she would see the raw emotion he was pouring into his gaze, but he knew that she was most likely still half asleep and wouldn't remember this later, anyway. Ron sighed, unconsciously biting his lip, and pulled her tight against his chest, cradling her to him as if she was the most fragile and precious thing in the world – which, to Ron, she was. His hands pressing her against him, Ron whispered regretfully into her hair, "I'm sorry... you have no idea how sorry..."

Before he could get lost in her scent, the feel of her small body relaxed against his, her hands wrapped delicately around his waist, Ron abruptly pulled away to stand up. He turned to pick up his bag and, his heart feeling like it was being stampeded upon by a troop of wild Thestrals, looked sadly at her one last time before he Disapparated.

* * *

Ron sighed, and his gaze turned back to the picture he had let fall next to him. He didn't always keep it in his wallet, which was why he had to check it. At seeing their seventeen-year-old selves smiling and laughing, Ron couldn't help but think of all they had gone through together since then: The end of the War, finding and losing jobs, figuring out how to manage in the world outside of Hogwarts... and they did it all together (with Harry too, of course).

**_And this journey that we're on, how far we've come, and I celebrate every moment_.**

_Merlin, look at all we've done_... _all that we've been through together... all we've ended up doing together_... A bolt of electricity shot through Ron's body at that thought. The sarcastic little voice in the back of his mind chuckled, _Well, I didn't mean _that_ originally, but it works_.

He looked over at Hermione's sleeping form again, trying to subdue the memories and less-than-appropriate thoughts that invaded the nighttime serenity of the room, and chuckled to himself quietly. The image of seventeen-year-old Hermione's reaction had she been told where they would be in eight years popped into his head. Ron's amusement died away rapidly, however, at the thought of twenty five year old Hermione's reaction. _Not what I used to think it would be like when we made love... well, actually, _that_ part is pretty much perfect... it's the rest of it that isn't what I would have expected_.

_**And when you say you love me, that's all you have to say, I'll always feel this way.**_

_What,_ the little voice taunted, _you mean the part where she confesses her undying love for you and you can't even muster the courage to tell her how you feel? _Ron was on the point of retorting rudely, aloud, when he remembered that _he_ was the one thinking those things, and sighed. _Great, I'm bloody talking to myself_.

Ron turned his head absentmindedly to look at her face again and frowned slightly. _I wonder if this would be different if I had never heard her say how she felt about me?_ Ron pondered that question for some time. After deliberating, he figured that the only thing it would have changed was that maybe he would have worked up the courage to tell her how _he_ felt at some point, based solely on the fact that he hadn't had a date since all this started, and she never protested their… encounters. _So it's all _her_ fault, really_.

_**When you say you love me, the world goes still, so still inside,**_

He snorted derisively. _Yes, well, that's what _you_ like to think. The truth, however, is another matter entirely_.

"I almost wish I hadn't started this in the first place," Ron muttered quietly to himself before he realized he had said it out loud. He sighed, considering what his life would have been like over the past eleven months had he not made the first move that summer night so long ago. _Prat, are you actually considering the possibility that you would prefer to be fucking some blonde idiot you met at a bar, like all those ones you used to go out with? You need to be with her, and you know bloody well that you could never go back to the way things were before, not after knowing what it's like to be with Hermione. You _need_ her. You've always needed her_.

**_And when you say you love me, in that moment, I know why I'm alive_.**

The truth of that thought slowly sunk into Ron's brain. He had known since he was sixteen that there would never be anyone else for him but Hermione. It was just that ever since the night of the Commencement Ball, he'd been trying to deny it. After graduating, they had begun to live on their own, and Ron had gone into some awful kind of depression. He had hated not being able to see Hermione everyday – he and Harry rented an apartment together for the first few years, so they saw each other everyday, but it seemed that Hermione was always busy or something else was getting in the way, so they rarely saw each other. Ron started going to bars, and after realizing that most of the girls there were more than willing to go back to his apartment with him, based solely on his looks, Ron threw himself into London's bar scene and didn't look back.

Not until that summer evening eleven months ago, anyway.

After that, what kept him going through his assignments was the thought that when he had free time, he'd be going back to see Hermione, to hold her, to kiss her, to hear her...

**_When you say you love me_...**

Ron turned his gaze back to Hermione, still sleeping peacefully, unaware that she had been the sole object of his thoughts for – oh, around two hours by now. Not like he didn't think about her all the time anyway. It was well into the early hours of the morning, and Ron knew his time with her was limited again and he would have to be going in only a few short hours. One of the million sighs he had sighed that night escaped his lips, his breath making a few wayward strands of Hermione's hair flit across her angelic features, dancing over her skin like leaves scattering in the wind. _I don't want to go... I don't want to have to leave you again... I want to stay with you, here, forever._ Ron's brow creased, and he pushed Hermione's hair aside, slowly running his fingers across the premature lines on her face. _Did I cause those_? he wondered sadly. Involuntarily biting his lip, Ron decided it was about time to tell her something, even if she was asleep, that he should have told her nine years ago.

_**When you say you love me...**_

"I love you more than life itself, Hermione Granger. I need you, I love you, I always have, and I always will."

Ron knew she couldn't hear him, but for the moment, it was enough. Someday, he'd look into her beautiful brown eyes, and he'd tell her everything he felt for her. Someday, he'd _really_ tell her he loved her. Someday, she would _know_ he loved her.

_**Do you know how I love you?**_


	3. Burn: Part I

Disclaimer: All the characters and their world belong to JK Rowling, while the song "Burn" belongs to Usher.

_A/N: The POV for this story might be a little confusing, so here's a guide to the new section breaks I have:_

_- - - - - - - -: between Hermione & Ron's POVs_

_- + - + - + - + - : between their POVs and a significant lapse of time_

_But you're all intelligent people, I'm sure you would have figured it out anyway:) Enjoy!

* * *

_

Chapter 3 – Burn

There was a filmy yellow light penetrating her eyelids as Hermione rolled over in her bed, and the first thought that struck her mind like a brick against a wall was, _Why does the morning come so bloody early…?_ Reluctant to face the day, she pulled her pillow over her head in attempt to block out the intrusive sunlight and deaden the awful hangover she was sporting. _Maybe yesterday was a dream… maybe the past eleven months were a dream and I'm waking up in my bed, I haven't seen Ron in two months, Ginny's still my full-time roommate, and Harry is still an Auror._ The little voice in the back of her head that always seemed to speak the thoughts she really didn't want to hear piped up, _But eleven months ago you weren't happy_. Through the feathers that made up her goose-down pillow, Hermione snorted derisively. _Oh, because _now_ I'm happy, like this, is that right?_

Groaning, she turned over, shielding her eyes from the overly cheerful sunlight, and unsuccessfully attempted to block out all memories of one Ronald Weasley.

_**Understand…**_

**_- - - - - - - - - - - _**

"Oi, you pansy, wake up! You're gonna be late for the morning exercises if you don't get your arse up _right now!_" a thick Irish accent yelled into Ron's ear, forcing his eyes open to witness the first rays of the morning's sun.

_Bloody fucking hell, mornings come too bloody early to be natural_, Ron thought as he groaned and turned over, trying to pretend there wasn't someone literally kicking his ass in an attempt to get him out of bed. _Bloody… I wish this whole thing were a dream. Ugh, why do women have to be so bloody difficult to understand? Ah… maybe if I think about it hard enough, I'll be transported back in time to yesterday morning, lying next to Hermione's small, warm, naked…_

"GET YOUR ARSE OUT OF THAT BED NOW BEFORE I GIVE YOU A WEDGIE THE SIZE OF AUSTRALIA!"

Ron groaned audibly and retaliated by kicking his tormentor in the groin before slowly unfolding himself out of the bed. As he stretched, he flicked his eyes to where Seamus was crouching over in pain and chuckled at the sight before shuffling off to the showers. He stepped into the stall, the cold water running over his body, and let all the memories, both painful and pleasant, of one Hermione Granger flood his mind and heart.

_**Why…

* * *

**_

Twenty-five hours earlier, sunrise was just around the corner and Ron was, yet again, lying awake and gazing at Hermione as she slept soundly by his side. It was strange, but whenever he slept next to her, he rarely slept at all, yet he always felt the most rested when he awoke, as if he had been sleeping for days. Gazing at the way she was sprawled spread-eagle over the bed, one arm draped over Ron's torso, the other hanging off the edge, and her head buried in the crook of his neck, Ron couldn't help but grin ridiculously. He never felt as peaceful at any time as when he was watching Hermione sleep. He wasn't quite sure why.

Perhaps it was because it was the only time he ever saw her with her guard down. The only time it was really just the two of them alone, without the influence of the rest of the world telling them how they should act. Sure, supposedly (and unspokenly) when they made love it was only themselves and their raw emotions, but they both knew (though neither wanted to admit it) that even so, there was something holding them back. There was something missing when they connected in the most intimate way humanly possible: honesty.

At the barest thought of what had happened last night, Ron's mind flew to what they had done together right before they had gone to sleep… or rather, what Hermione had done to him. _She must have been really happy to see me; she rarely ever does that_…. He sighed audibly, still grinning, before realizing that all his blood was rapidly flowing south, and that was not the condition in which he wanted Hermione to wake and find him. Reluctantly, Ron let his mind wander to how he had spent the two hours afterwards… and his smile came to a screeching halt. His still-slowly-awakening mind suddenly remembered that he needed to leave by thirty minutes past dawn, and he quickly looked out the window to ascertain how much time he had left with her before he had to go. The very tips of the sun's rays were barely tinting the sky, so Ron figured that he had around fifty minutes before he had to leave, and would try to avoid waking her.

_Or maybe I could just whisper to her that I'm sorry I have to leave and that I love her, and would she please wait for me_…. Ron sighed yet again, out loud, knowing that he would never be able to do it, no matter how much he tried to convince himself it was the right thing to do.

_**See, it's burning me to hold onto this, I know this is something I gotta do…**_

Ron closed his eyes against the flood of unhappiness that was rapidly rushing his way and, opting to immerse himself in happy memories of his time with Hermione, unintentionally dozed off to sleep.

When he managed to open his eyes to the world again, the sun was peeking its stupidly cheery head into the room and Ron started. He hadn't expected to fall asleep again, and doing so had just cut a large chunk of time out of what he had left to spend with Hermione before leaving. Simply the thought of having to do so pulled sharply at his heart, and he turned his gaze from the window back to the top of Hermione's bushy brown head of hair.

As slowly and gently as physically possible for a person of his size (which was surprisingly gentle, as Hermione had found out countless times in the past eleven months), Ron slipped Hermione's arm off of his chest and onto a pillow he put in his place, and then padded across the floor to get dressed. Pulling on his boxers and then pants, he couldn't help but smile at how quickly they had been discarded the night before. A sudden memory flashed through his mind and he returned to the side of Hermione's bed to look for his wallet and the picture of the two of them that he had been looking at prior to falling asleep. Sure enough, both were on the bedside table, and he reverently slipped the picture back into its hiding spot, quickly stealing a glance at their happy eighteen-year-old faces before storing the wallet in his back pocket.

While fastening the buttons on the shirt that both he and Hermione had sported yesterday, Ron yet again glanced out the window, deciding that he had around fifteen minutes before he absolutely had to leave. He blew out a reluctant puff of air and finished getting dressed by slipping his shoes on his feet. Straightening up, he moved as silently as possible to stand by Hermione's side. After deciding he might as well leave sooner rather than later, to avoid making this harder than it already was, Ron's thoughts accelerated up to the speed of light at the prospect of actually needing to leave her side, even if it was only temporary and bodily – of course, he was always by her side in his thoughts, even if he couldn't be there physically.

Not being able to resist, Ron leaned over to press his lips gently to Hermione's temple and give her arm a gentle squeeze. Just then, muddled with sleep, Hermione's voice wafted to his ears, slightly muffled by the pillow, "What are you doing?"

Ron sighed – he had managed to inadvertently wake her up again. "I have to leave, 'Mione… I'll be gone a couple months. I'm really sorry…."

_**But that don't mean I want to, what I'm trying to say is that I-love-you, I just...**_

_- - - - - - - -_

Hermione slowly floated into consciousness and grinned inwardly at her current position, choosing to keep her eyes blissfully closed. The perfection of Ron inundated her senses and she had a hard time stifling a contented sigh that was threatening to burst out of her. By her guess, it was around twenty minutes before day break, and since Ron hadn't said anything the night before, she assumed that they had hours left together before he had to leave again.

The perverted and somewhat wanton part of her mind immediately returned to the night before and recounted with relish their various encounters. _I think the kitchen table after we ate was the best time last night… though I must say, I think Ron particularly enjoyed the third time around, back in bed. I must admit that taking charge is quite enjoyable sometimes…_ Hermione mused inwardly, a wicked smile ghosting across her face, which was still buried in Ron's shoulder. At feeling the familiar tingle between her legs and warmth flushing her cheeks, Hermione thanked her lucky stars that she was a girl and lacked the part of their anatomy that caused guys so much embarrassment. _Otherwise, just about every time I see Ron these days, I would be utterly humiliated_.

Unfortunately, the evil little voice in the back of her head that _so_ enjoyed playing the Devil's advocate taunted, _Ah, so making love to the man who you love but doesn't love you back isn't ultimately humiliating then, hm?_ Hermione was rapidly discovering that she really loathed that little voice. It just never let her be blissfully happy for any large amount of time, did it? _Well, if you told him how you felt then I might just go away_, the sneaky voice pointed out. She fought against her bodily impulse to actually shake her head at the thought. There was no way she could tell Ron. He was only in all this because he needed some way to - er - release his tension from work. And that isn't to say that she didn't enjoy all this - he _was_ quite talented, after all - it's only the fact that she happened to be head over heels in love with him that caused a slight problem. _Then perhaps you should call this off if it's bothering you too much. If that's all Ron's really in it for, then he can find someone else just as easily_. Though the idea of him seeing any other woman stabbed at Hermione's heart, the truth of that statement seeped uneasily into her head.

_**I feel like this is coming to an end, and it's better for me to let it go now than hold on and hurt you, I gotta let it burn…**_

Reluctant to continue thinking about this unpleasant subject, Hermione let herself be sucked back into the realm of sleep, knowing that she had hours more to spend with the man she loved, which, really, was all that mattered.

When Hermione floated back into consciousness, there was a suspicious amount of sunlight penetrating her eyelids. It took her all of five seconds to ascertain that Ron was no longer lying next to her, which, seeing as she couldn't have been asleep for more than twenty minutes, meant only one thing: Ron was leaving again… without telling her. The thought of that alone just made her blood boil. Sure, she may only be his friend-with-benefits, as opposed to his girlfriend, but she thought that she deserved at least some notice that he was leaving early again; a simple "Goodbye," for example, would be nice.

In the ear that wasn't obstructed by her pillow, Hermione could hear the distinct sound of a zipper and clothes rustling as feet padded softly on the floor around her bed.

_Remember, this is how he treated all of his one-night-stands before he found you as an easy shag. You aren't anything special, just another girl who he can put it in and then abandon when he needs to,_ the little voice jeered. Before she lost control completely and started yelling at him, Hermione forced herself to calm down and then tried to work up enough courage to face him and ask why the bloody hell he was leaving without telling her.

Just as she was about to turn over and nonchalantly inquire as to where he was going and for how long, she felt soft, warm lips press gently against her exposed temple, and a rough, strong hand give her shoulder a quick caress. Without remembering to turn in order to face him, a muffled "What are you doing?" escaped her lips.

Hermione knew that Ron was ruffling his hair in agitation when he replied, "I have to leave, 'Mione… I'll be gone a couple months. I'm really sorry…."

Unable to keep her emotions in check any longer, Hermione flipped over on the bed. She pulled the sheets up to her chin to cover the fact that she wasn't wearing anything, and prepared to scold him lightly. "Did you just get a call? Is it an emergency?"

The fact that Ron sighed and his brows furrowed deeper should have clued Hermione in, but something inside her made her hopeful that he wasn't the git her subconscious immediately accused him of being. Clearly attempting to choose his words carefully, Ron replied with more than a touch of agitation, "No… I knew. I've known for awhile, actually; I just... didn't want to ruin the mood last night…."

_Ruin the _mood "Ruin the _mood_, Ron? And what is this, a perfectly happy chat in a cheery atmosphere?" Hermione forced herself to take deep breaths before she spoke next. "I may just be your friend, but I think I deserve at least the courtesy of being told beforehand how much time you have before you need to leave." As she finished her sentence, a sudden realization hit her: _this is almost _exactly_ what happened before he came to me in the first place eleven months ago! The poor girl who had the misfortune to meet Ron was about to be left suddenly for months without prior notice!_ Hermione could never remember being angrier with him; even their argument in fourth year paled in comparison to this – she could almost feel the steam coming out of her ears.

Before Hermione could continue her silent enraged musings, she thought she heard Ron mutter, clearly not meaning for her to hear, "Believe me, you aren't a friend…."

And that was the end of all rational thought on Hermione's part. "Oh, well then, excuse me for thinking we were friends! After fourteen years of _supposed_ friendship, I reckon I've fallen into the category of a quick shag to you?" Ron's blue eyes widened in horror. Hermione was now standing on the mattress, the sheets pulled around her in a loose toga, and when Ron tried to interrupt her tirade, she simply screeched at him, "If I were you, Mr. Weasley, I would let me finish what I am about to say!" Ron's mouth snapped shut immediately, his eyes still frightened and ashamed.

Taking deep breaths as she glared daggers in Ron's direction, Hermione decided it was time to do what she should have done eleven months ago.

"I want to call this off, Ron."

_**It's gonna burn for me to say this, but it's comin' from my heart, it's been a long time coming…**_

Ron tried to interject, "'Mione, I didn't mean what I said like that, I –"

But Hermione, whose look of fury had melted into calm sadness, held up her hand to stop his words and sighed. "I'm willing to overlook that comment and perhaps ask you about it at a later date, but that's not what's bringing this up now. I've been considering it for some time and this morning has only made it clearer that this needs to be done."

At this pause, Ron didn't have a single thing to say. His look of fright had turned into shock and his mouth hung partially open.

Deciding that standing on the bed was making her nauseated, Hermione opted to sit on it and cross her legs instead. "Ron, you had to know that this would happen eventually."

_**But we done been fell apart, really wanna work this out, but I don't think ya gonna change ya…**_

Finally finding his voice again, Ron stammered, "N-but… if it's because I leave for so long, that's my job, it wo-"

"That isn't it, Ron. I know that's part of your job."

A deafening pause infiltrated the room.

"Then what is it?"

Hermione paused, and realized she hadn't fully thought this through. She couldn't very well say to him, "_It's because I'm in love with you and simply making love to you with no attachment is killing me_…."

Suddenly, an excuse shot into her brain and then out of her mouth. "I'm seeing someone."

Birds were twittering away outside, but it sounded like someone had just died inside the bedroom; neither of them made a sound. Ron was staring, still open-mouthed, at Hermione, who gazed back, wondering if he could tell that she was lying.

Gulping, Ron managed to sputter, "Who?"

Hermione breathed a sigh of annoyance and relief. "Does it honestly matter, Ron? Really, I d-"

"How long have you been seeing him?" Ron's fists were clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles were the most unnatural shade of white Hermione had ever seen.

A burst of irritation shot through her body and she threw her hands up into the air. "You haven't changed at all, Ronald, have you? While I'm doing something to make you happy, you really don't give a shit how I've been doing, but as soon as I come to enough of my senses to stop shagging you, you suddenly become ridiculously overprotective! I never–"

"Whoever he is, he isn't good enough for you." Ron didn't even seem phased that Hermione had sworn.

"And who _is_, Ron? You know, you've supposedly been giving me advice on my relationships for the past year, but they've never lasted for very long, and since I can't fathom what I've been doing wrong in the sex department – you've certainly never complained – I can only conclude it must be the _advice_ you've been giving me on the rest of it." Hermione knew that she was completely changing the subject, and almost none of that was true… but she needed some reason, and that was all her frazzled brain could come up with at the time.

Ron paused for a moment, his forehead creased in agitation and thought. "Fine, but if that's a problem, then maybe I should just keep giving you advice and stuff–"

"No, Ron! Just… no."

They just stayed like that, Hermione sitting on the bed, Ron standing rigidly in the corner, staring at each other for what seemed like hours, though it couldn't have been more than a minute. Hermione sighed and put her hands in her lap. "I told you, I have a boyfriend now. Unless you can give me a _real_ reason why this should continue – one that doesn't involve your possible lack of getting any - then we can't keep doing this." It was all she could do to keep the tears out of her voice.

_**I do but you don't think it's best we go our separate ways; tell me why I should stay in this relationship.**_

Somewhere inside herself, Hermione was pleading with Ron to tell her that he was madly in love with her, that he couldn't live without her, to dump her imaginary boyfriend, and to wait for him. She laughed derisively; he would never tell her anything such as that because it wasn't anywhere near the truth.

Her laugh made Ron's head snap up and his eyes go from burning holes in the floor to gazing deeply into hers. Had she not been so upset, she would have gotten lost in their intensity.

Unable to take the tense silence anymore, Hermione prompted, "Well?"

Ron's shoulders slumped dejectedly in some internal battle, and shook his head.

This time the tears broke their barriers, sliding reluctantly down Hermione's cheeks. "Right…" she mumbled. Taking a deep breath, she got up off the bed, considering getting her bathrobe so she wouldn't have to keep wearing the stupid sheet…. Said action served a dual purpose, because it was also a weak attempt to distract herself from the suffocating feeling she was suddenly overcome with. Five steps away from the bed, she realized that Ron was standing right in front of the closet where the bathrobe hung, and hesitated, her eyes flicking between him and the closet door. Ron followed the path her eyes were tracing, and though he seemed to understand what she wanted, he didn't move. Hermione took a few more halting steps towards the closet, but before she could move much farther, Ron stopped her by stepping right in front of her and blocking her path.

After standing there and staring into her eyes for a moment, he took her face in his hands and wiped away the tears that were falling freely down her face. Hermione had no choice but to look Ron in the eyes, still holding onto her sheet-toga. In that moment, all she wanted to do was to lean into his warm, gentle hands or reach forward and bury her face in his chest, but there was no way Hermione was going to give in to her heart. Not again. Not this time.

Staring into each other's eyes, both were trying to tell the other something that was simply lost in translation, and Hermione's heart and soul felt as if they were shattering into millions of pieces, tiny shards that might take an eternity to piece back together. There was no humor in Ron's face now, none of the mirth that usually hid in his infinite blue eyes; only careful intensity was visible to Hermione when he whispered, "'Mione, I…."

There was an eternal second that came when Ron paused, considering what to say next, and in that second, Hermione was sharply reminded of how much she loved him and how, if she kept gazing into his blue eyes or let him finish what he was about to say, she would never be able to break this cycle. How letting him stand there, looking at her like that, trying to change her mind, was simply driving the knife deeper into her broken heart. Before Ron could utter another syllable, Hermione came to her senses and pulled sharply out of Ron's grasp and stumbled backwards across the room, eliciting a strangled gasp from him.

When her legs came into contact with the side of her bed, she stopped short and let out a heart-wrenching sob. Her hand clasped itself firmly around her mouth, trying to suppress all sound of her breaking apart, and she lifted her eyes from the floor to see what Ron's reaction was to her hysterics. _What must he think? Here I am bawling when we weren't even in a relationship!_

Though she hoped for some sort of emotion on Ron's face, there was nothing there that gave her the slightest clue as to what he was thinking. His blue eyes, normally so expressive, were closed down tight like a well-guarded fortress. His mind was clearly elsewhere… _Probably thinking about where he's next going to get a shag._ She couldn't take this anymore.

"I think you should leave, Ron."

**_When I'm hurting baby, I ain't happy baby, plus there's so many other things I gotta deal with… I think that you should let it burn_.**

Ron seemed like he was coming out of a trance when his eyes refocused on Hermione's face. As if on instinct, his hand moved up to ruffle his fire-red hair in agitation. He shook his head and turned his eyes to the floor. "I can't leave it like this, 'Mione. How can you expect me to leave now? In the fourteen years we've known each other, we've usually worked our fights out within a week or so – excluding our early years at Hogwarts, those don't count – and I'm going to be gone for months this time. You're upset. I can't – I won't leave you like this."

Hugging the sheet closer to her body, Hermione replied scathingly, "Well, there are a lot of things different between us now, aren't there, _Ronald_?" She began ticking her points off on her fingers. "First: _we've_ had sex. Second: we've _had_ sex. Third: we've had _sex_! I think that factors in a whole other set of problems with _this_" - she motioned between the two of them - "don't you? Ugh, this was a horrible idea in the first place!"

_**When your feeling ain't the same and your body don't want to, but you know you gotta let it go 'cause the party ain't jumpin' like it used to…**_

She shook her head disgustedly, mostly at herself, and glanced up to see Ron looking injured. Hermione couldn't resist rolling her eyes. "Oh, _what_, Ron? Don't worry, there was nothing _wrong_ with your part during _it_. It's the _idea_ of _you_ and _me_ that's the problem. Which is why we need to end this. And why you need to leave."

In apparent wounded denial, Ron, refusing to look up from the floor, shook his head and sighed. "Right… well, I'll just pop by the next time I get off, you and Harry and I can get some dinner, or–"

"No, Ron," Hermione interjected quietly. "I think… I think that we need some time apart. As friends as well."

Slowly raising his head, Ron looked Hermione straight in the eyes. She refused to look away from his probing gaze, and when he opened his mouth to speak, she simply raised her hand to indicate that he should remain silent. "Let it go, Ron. Now please… leave."

They stood there looking at each other for just another moment before Ron rapidly ducked his head and strode over to pick up his bag. Glancing back at her one last time, he Disapparated with a resounding 'crack.'

The moment he left, Hermione sank onto the floor, forgetting she wasn't wearing anything, and just bent over, let her head fall into her hands, and cried.

_**Even though this might bruise you, let it burn, let it burn…gotta let it burn.**_

_- - - - - - - -_

As Ron stood there, waiting for Hermione's reaction to him having to leave, for the first time in thirteen years he wished that he were anywhere but with her.

The guilty part of his mind was immediately propelled into action when Hermione sat up, all concern, and asked, "Did you just get a call? Is it an emergency?"

He sighed and unconsciously mussed his red hair with his right hand, his brows furrowing in thought. A part of him was urging him to lie – _Say yes! You just got the call a few minutes ago and you have to leave immediately!_ But the other part of him, the part that kept reminding him how ridiculously in love with her he was, told him that, '_Honesty is always the best policy!' Plus, she'll kill you if she ever finds out you've lied to her. Do you love this woman or not? Yes? Well, then, tell her the truth and hope for the best!_

"No… I knew. I've known for awhile, actually; I just… didn't want to ruin the mood last night…." _Ruin the mood? That's the best excuse you could come up with? Git. _Ron crossed the fingers of his left hand in his pocket.

"Ruin the _mood_, Ron?" _Uh-oh_. "And what is this, a perfectly happy chat in a cheery atmosphere?" Ron grimaced – whenever Hermione used sarcasm as an argument, he _knew_ he was really in for it – and braced himself for what she was going to yell at him next. "I may just be your friend, but I think I deserve at least the courtesy of being told beforehand how much time you have before you need to leave."

Unsure of how to respond to that, Ron let it hang in the air and observed that Hermione was lost in her own thoughts for the moment. He quickly reviewed what she had said to him and tried to figure out how to rebuff her and apologize all at once. Part of what she last said scrolled through his mind -_"I may just be your friend."_' Ron scoffed inwardly and unconsciously muttered, "Believe me, you aren't _just_ a friend."

"Oh, well then, excuse me for thinking we were friends!" _Oh no! She heard! _Ron panicked. _What do I do now – bloody hell, she's still talking, listen to her, you git! And you're talking to yourself again – oh sod off._ "...I've fallen into the category of a quick shag to you?" At that, Ron's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. He had to say something, anything, but just as he opened his mouth, Hermione screeched at decibels Ron didn't know it was possible for human voices to reach, "If I were you, Mr. Weasley, I would let me finish what I am about to say!" _She never calls me Mr. Weasley!_ That shut Ron up quite quickly, and he hoped to Merlin that she would let him tell her what he meant by that….

"I want to call this off, Ron."

_**Deep down, you know it's best for you, except…**_

His heart stood still. Surely she didn't mean what he thought she meant – _Nah. She wouldn't. Now's the time to explain yourself_. "'Mione, I didn't mean what I said like that, I –"

Ron was silenced again, much too soon for his liking, and was forced to listen to words that would haunt him.

"I'm willing to overlook that comment and perhaps ask you about it at a later date, but that's not what's bringing this up now. I've been considering it for some time, and this morning has only made it clearer that this needs to be done."

_No, this can't be happening, not now, this can't be…._ Ron's thoughts swirled around in his head so fast he felt dizzy, as if he was going to throw up or fall over or both. He was in shock; he wasn't sure what to think or feel anymore.

"Ron, you had to know that this would have happened eventually."

_No, I didn't! I thought that somehow you would figure out that I love you! Or something… or anything, anything but this! You can't leave me!_ The little voice in the back of his head jeered cruelly, _But you're the one who's leaving her. This is all _your_ fault_. Ron shook his head and finally found his voice again. "N-but… if it's because I leave for so long, that's my job, it wo-"

Hermione interrupted him again and Ron wondered if he would ever be able to get a full sentence in so that he could try to change her mind. "That isn't it, Ron. I know that's part of your job."

A deafening pause infiltrated the room. "Then what is it?"

_There, that was a full sentence, now, wasn't it?_ Ron seriously considered banging his head on the wall to try to get rid of those pesky voices. Ignoring that, his thoughts returned to the situation at hand, and the feeling of having a thousand piranhas eating away at his stomach intensified, the searing knives slicing through every inch of his rapidly numbing body doubling in number. _Maybe she'll finally tell me that she loves me… actually acknowledge it to my face while I'm awake_ –

"I'm seeing someone."

Suddenly, Ron felt as if the floor had been taken away from underneath him and he was falling through infinite space and time, and he didn't know if he was ever going to stop. He gulped, and trying to keep a hold on the anger that was bubbling to the surface, he sputtered, "Who?"

_Here it is again – someone got to her first. Someone else was quicker, again. Someone else was better, again. Someone else was smarter, more handsome, stronger, funnier, EVERYTHING more than I am, again! And she chose him. Forget that she's been telling me for eleven months – though she doesn't know I know – that she loves me, someone else is better for her than me. I think I'm dying…. I thought in seventh year that it would kill me, but that… that was nothing to how I feel now. I think I'm being pulled apart at the seams…. I sort of had her and now I'm losing her. All over again._

Thoughts rolled around in Ron's head, over and over, blocking out any sense of the outer world. Ron had the vague impression that Hermione was saying something, but couldn't - or wouldn't - hear her. Love, defeat, betrayal, anguish, fury; all that he had been holding at bay came tumbling forth and he couldn't control it any longer. To keep from punching through the wall, Ron clenched his fists as he managed to speak through equally clenched teeth, "How long have you been seeing him?"

_**But you hate the thought of her being with someone else…**_

"You haven't changed at all…." Hermione's angry voice slipped through his haze of rage, but then was just as quickly blocked out again. Ron was seeing red, and it sure as hell wasn't his hair. If he ever found out who the bastard was, he would be sure the only red he would be seeing was liquid, and plentiful.

"Whoever he is, he isn't good enough for you." _You should be with me… hell, even I'm not good enough for you either, but no less than anyone else!_

Ron's anger began to fade, and he realized that he might want to tone it down a bit and try to begin to listen to her again…. Usually when they fought, he paid close attention to what she said so he could rebuff her properly, but he was so inflamed today that he wasn't even listening to her at all – which was definitely not good.

He tuned in just in time to hear her bite out, "…I can only conclude it must be the _advice_ you've been giving me on the rest of it."

Pausing to try and work out how to respond, Ron tried to piece together what she could have been saying… _Something how I haven't been giving her either the right or enough advice… eh, just say _something,_ doesn't matter what, just as long as it has to do with this not ending!_ "Fine, but if that's a problem, then maybe I should just keep giving you advice and stuff –"

"No, Ron! Just… no."

Now he was listening. It wasn't so much what Hermione had just said but the tone of voice in which she said it that made Ron tense up, as if bracing himself for an attack. Her voice sounded so final… as if there was no more room for argument, no more room for anything.

They just stayed like that, Hermione sitting on the bed, Ron standing rigidly in the corner, staring at each other, for what seemed like hours, though it couldn't have been more than a minute. Ron's mind was racing, hoping that this was all just a nightmare, that this was anything but reality.

When Hermione sighed sadly, Ron knew whatever she was going to say could not be good. "I told you, I have a boyfriend now. Unless you can give me a _real_ reason why this should continue – one that doesn't involve your possible lack of getting any – then we can't keep doing this."

_No, no, no, no… I'm in love with you! I can't live without you! Dump the asshole you're seeing and wait for me to come back! Please, no, this can't be happening…. No…._

The sound of derisive laughter coming from the bed was not what he had expected to hear, and Ron's head snapped up to look into her soft, brown eyes. Soon he felt like he was lost in them, so lost in her… as he'd always been. He fiercely blinked back tears. _No, you aren't going to cry in front of her. Not now…._

Hermione's voice cracked through the silence like thunder in a storm. "Well?"

_Tell her! This is your last chance to tell her how you feel! – No, prat, she's seeing someone! Some bloke who's probably handsome and rich and smart and perfect for her in every way. She would never want me now – But you heard her, last night and however many nights before that, she's said she loves _you,_ not whoever he is! – No, that was probably just out of habit. It's over. It's finished; I've lost. I've lost her._

Ron's shoulders slumped in defeat as he dejectedly shook his head.

_**But you know that it's over…**_

"Right…" Ron heard Hermione mumble with… were those tears in her voice? He glanced up to see her pull the sheet she had been holding as some sort of robe tighter around her and stand up. His eyes widened when he saw tears sliding quietly down her cheeks. _Why's she crying?_ Ron watched as Hermione took a few steps away from the bed and then hesitated, her tear-filled eyes flicking between him and… the closet that was right behind him. _She probably wants to put on some real clothes…._ Something inside himself told Ron to move out of the way and let her pass, but something else, a much stronger something else, made Ron stay exactly where he was, watching her every move. As she took a few more halting steps forward, Ron instinctually made a couple of steps towards her, so that they were standing face-to-face.

After standing there and staring into her eyes for a moment, he took her face in his hands and gently wiped away the tears that were in free-fall. She was forced to look into his eyes, and Ron's heart lurched at the sadness he saw concealed in hers. In that moment, all he wanted to do was pull her to him and kiss away her tears and tell her he loved her like no one else had ever loved someone before, but he knew he couldn't do that now. _Or could he?_

Staring into each other's eyes, both were trying to tell the other something that was simply lost in translation, and Ron's heart and soul felt as if they were shattering into millions of pieces, tiny shards that might take forever to piece back together. The previous battle he had fought with himself forgotten, his courage restored by the liquid diamonds rolling down Hermione's face, Ron faintly decided he had to tell her something he should have told her nine years ago. "'Mione, I…" Ron whispered gently, still cradling her head in his large hands. He paused for a second, forcing himself not to get lost in her eyes or the fact that she was so close to him he could feel her warm breath on his face.

Just as he took a deep breath and was about to continue, Hermione pulled away from him and stumbled backwards across the room. Ron let out a strangled gasp from deep within his throat. _No…!_

He stared at her as she came into contact with the side of her bed and emitted a heart-wrenching sob, clasping a hand around her mouth. Suddenly, he felt strangely detached from the scene. _She knew what you were going to say and didn't want to hear it. You've lost her to someone you don't even know._

Hermione's voice broke into his trance. "I think you should leave, Ron."

Ron slowly lifted his eyes and focused them on Hermione's face, agitatedly ruffling his crimson locks. He opened his mouth to speak but then shook his head and returned his gaze to the floor. _Try to forget about how you much you feel for her for a minute, like you did on Commencement Day. Focus on the fact that she is one of your best friends and you can't lose her! Losing her love, or never having it, really, is one thing, but you would go crazy without her friendship._ "I can't leave it like this, 'Mione. How can you expect me to leave now? In the fourteen years we've known each other, we've usually worked our fights out within a week or so" - _Ah, so in first, or second, or third, or fourth year, those months and weeks you spent angry at each other were really only a few days?_ - "excluding our early years at Hogwarts, those don't count" - _There you go, you're actually learning!_ - "and I'm going to be gone for months this time. You're upset. I can't – I won't leave you like this."

"Well, there are a lot of things different between us now, aren't there, _Ronald_?" Hermione's scathing tone of voice, and the use of his full first name, cut Ron to the quick. "First: _we've_ had sex. Second: we've _had_ sex. Third: we've had _sex_! I think that factors in a whole other set of problems with _this_" - she motioned between the two of them - "don't you? Ugh, this was a horrible idea in the first place!"

"_...a horrible idea in the first place…."_ Hermione's voice echoed through his head. _She never really wanted to, all those times she said she loved me, she wasn't really telling the truth… she never loved me._

Glancing up, his eyes clearly portraying the hurt and dejection he felt, Ron was even more upset when he saw Hermione roll her eyes at him from across the room. "Oh, _what_, Ron? Don't worry, there was nothing _wrong_ with your part during _it_. It's the _idea_ of _you_ and _me_ that's the problem. Which is why we need to end this. And why you need to leave."

_**You know that it was through…**_

"_The _idea_ of _you_ and _me_ that's the problem… you need to leave."_ If Ron had previously thought he couldn't feel any worse, he was more wrong than he had ever been. Those few words wounded him deeper than he ever could have imagined. "_The _idea_ of _you_ and _me_ that's the problem.…_" Ron shook his head, wallowing in misery, and sighed. _Well, you can still be her friend, at least. That's better than nothing._ "Right… well, I'll just pop by the next time I get off, you and Harry and I can get some dinner, or–"

"No, Ron." Hermione's soft voice interrupted his mumbles. "I think… I think that we need some time apart. As friends as well."

_**Let it burn…**_

The icy numbness concluded its slow deadly seep through his body, that feeling of falling through emptiness resurfacing so quickly Ron felt lightheaded. Slowly raising his head, Ron looked Hermione straight in the eyes. There was no mistaking that look of defiance in her now-tearless eyes – she meant what she was saying. Ron tried to make one last attempt at changing her mind and opened his mouth to do so, but Hermione gracefully raised her hand to signal that he shouldn't even bother trying.

"Let it go, Ron. Now please… leave."

They stood there, looking at each other for just another moment before Ron rapidly ducked his head and strode over to pick up his bag. He refused to show her how much this was affecting him, how much he felt like he was suddenly dead inside. Glancing back regretfully at her one last time, Ron Disapparated with a resounding 'crack.'

A second later, he arrived at the safe point right outside the barracks and leaned against the cold, unfeeling brick wall to steady himself. He couldn't let the others see how shaken he was – they would make him sit the day out and it would go onto his record, which was not good. Gathering himself together, he straightened and strode purposefully down the hall, nodding hello to other men and women he knew as he passed them in the corridors. Arriving at his bunker, Ron put down his bag and began to get dressed. He would cry over her later. For the moment, he had to ignore the feeling of a volcano erupting inside his stomach. He had to let it go. He had to let _her_ go.

_**Let it burn... gotta let it burn.

* * *

**_

_This chapter to be continued in Burn: Part II_


	4. Burn: Part II

Chapter 3 - Burn: Part II

* * *

As Ron was sitting on a bench outside in the sweltering sun, he wiped his hand across his sweaty forehead. He blew out a puff of air and leaned back, thankful they had decided to give him a five-minute break. Personally, he preferred going on missions to practicing and training in the facilities – for one, the actual missions were usually a lot less grueling than what they practiced, and for another, they were usually more interesting. Granted, Kinley, Ron's supervisor and boss, was usually pretty creative when it came to inventing hypothetical battle situations, but he had practiced with his co-workers for so many years by now that he knew all their moves by heart and it didn't take him much to guess what five spells they were going to use next – _Battling is quite like chess, really_, Ron mused inwardly.

Looking out over the field, watching Seamus dueling with Jack (and taking quite a beating, at that), Ron wondered how he ever really managed to get this job anyway.

A month after leaving school, Ron had received his acceptance letter from the Department of Mysteries, saying that he would be "a valuable addition to their staff" and requesting that he come in the following week to begin.

Once there, they had spent the next week or so training and testing him in all sorts of things, most of which he couldn't even remember now, seven years later, except that he was exhausted every night that week. Then there was the day which he would never forget, when the future course of his career, and life, was decided.

Ron was eighteen years old and walking nervously down that hallway he had first seen in his fifth year and had seen every day for the past week when he went to "work." The day before, they had told him that this was the day when his actual profession within the Department would be determined.

Upon opening the door and stepping into the circular room, letting the door swing closed behind him, Ron raised his wand. The room was now filled with a low rumbling sound and the streaks of blue light on the walls that signaled the room was doing its automatic disorientation technique. Once the walls slowed their rotation, he said calmly into the empty room, "_Signumata Lion!_" A door to his right swung open, revealing a brightly lit office space, witches and wizards occasionally walking past. The spell he had spoken to let him in was like the Department of Mystery's I.D. system; instead of some sort of card, or one of those Muggle inventions a rytnia, reitnesa… ah, an r-something scan (Ginny loved Muggle books, and tried to explain this contraption to him once, but he didn't really get it then, and could never remember its proper name), it was an ID spell. Each person's spell began with "_Signumata_," but the second word was tailored especially to the employee – though they rarely understood exactly why it applied specifically to them, and those who decided the words certainly weren't going to tell any time soon.

That was the main drawback to working in someplace called the Department of _Mysteries_ – there were so many things you didn't know the answer to. They just _were_ and that was all anyone expected you to know, or wanted to know.

In any case, Ron walked into the office space, gazing around at the office and wondering if he was going to end up working in there. _I hope not. I think I'd go bloody insane stuck in a beige-colored cubicle every day._ After what seemed to be the longest walk of his life, Ron reached the big oak doors that were his destination, on which resided a gold plaque reading 'William Kinley – Superior W.' Ron wasn't sure exactly what the second part meant, but little was he to know that he would soon find out.

Hoping to seem unafraid, he knocked boldly on the door, then shifted from foot to foot, glancing apprehensively at the people who were giving him strange looks. Finally, a gruff voice called from inside, "Come the bloody hell in, we don't have all day."

_Shite_. Ron turned the handle, his hand slipping on the cool metal, and pushed the heavy door open to reveal a room that was pitch black. It was not what he had expected from outside, where there were windows that had let light in through the shades. He supposed they were magically deceptive, as were so many things there.

Not seeing anyone, Ron was reluctant to close the door, and waited in the entrance, rocking back and forth on his heels, trying to decide what to do.

When he heard the same gruff voice bellow, "Shut the bloody door before I'm forced to hex you into the next century!" Ron jumped to attention and immediately closed the door behind him.

As soon as the door was closed, dim lights blinked on, and when Ron had turned around, he didn't see a black hole, which was what the room had first appeared to be, but a musty conference room with a medium-sized circular table in the middle. There wasn't much in there, not even any pictures on the walls or magical windows.

He looked at the five people sitting around the table, one of who was laughing. "Oh, don't look so frightened, Ron, Kinley's just grumpy because he's stuck inside for more than half an hour."

Wait a minute, he knew that voice… "Tonks? What're you doing here?"

A man sitting to her left grumbled, "I've been asking myself the same thing for the past ten minutes."

Tonks, who was sporting curly brown hair that day, elbowed him unceremoniously in the side and smiled back at Ron. "I work here. This tosser sitting next to me is Billy Kinley, though everyone just calls him Kinley."

Said man stood up and met Ron halfway across the room to shake hands. Kinley was a man in his early thirties with a scruffy three-day-old beard and brown hair that accompanied, oddly enough, warm gray-blue eyes. Before returning to his seat, Kinley muttered to Ron, "Don't be a bloody chicken, you can't always wait for someone to tell you to do something before you do it. Have your own bloody mind – this isn't your little school anymore."

Ron gulped and nodded before returning his gaze to Tonks, who seemed to have taken the role as mediator for the meeting. She motioned to the man sprawled in the chair to her left and said, with a touch of a laugh in her voice, "That's Chris Reas. He's asleep now because he was up all last night but refused to postpone the meeting today. We'll wake him up later. This" – she pointed to the woman sitting primly to the left of Chris - "is Carlotta Salwen."

As she stood to shake Ron's hand, he noted that she only rose up to around his elbows. Her white hair was flecked with gray and there were small spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose, not quite hiding intelligent, deep-brown eyes. For a woman of her size and appearance, Ron was surprised when she had a very firm handshake. _There's more than meets the eye to everything around here, it seems_, Ron mused. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Salwen," he said politely.

"Same to you, Ronald," she replied, and then added with a chuckle, "and you can call me Carlotta – unlike some people here, I've made peace with my first name." Her eyes twinkled and she shot a wry smile in Tonks's direction.

After Carlotta returned to her seat, Tonks motioned to the last person, sitting on Carlotta's left side. "And I believe you know Neel, here."

The mentioned person simply nodded his "hello" to Ron. Neel, or Michael Neel, as was his full name, was one of the people who had been training and testing Ron over the past week. A middle aged man who had half a head of brown-black hair and brown eyes, Neel had been one of Ron's more severe critics and seemed to be fond of telling Ron that he needed to "put his back into it" more often than not, the cigar he constantly kept in his mouth bobbing every time.

At this point, Neel took over the meeting, forcing Tonks to be quiet with one sharp glance before standing up and crossing his arms. After taking a long puff from his foul-smelling cigar, Neel spoke in a smooth, low voice that, though supposedly quiet, easily carried to the ears of everyone in the room. "So, Weasley, like I told you yesterday, today you're going to find out where you end up working for the next few decades of your life." Ron shuddered inwardly, trying to hide the fact that having a good part of the rest of his future being decided in one day was giving him a headache. "Over the past week, we have been giving you various tests to figure out what kind of job you have the aptitude for and, after some deliberation, have narrowed the list of hundreds of possible jobs down to four. Every one of the people in this room represent a different profession that you might be eligible for – well, except Tonks, here" – Neel glared pointedly at Tonks at this, who smiled in return and leaned back nonchalantly in her chair - "who, upon hearing that you might be entering her department, insisted that she be allowed to join the meeting. She and Kinley represent the same vocation, while Chris, Carlotta, and I are all from other subdivisions of the Department."

Neel paused for effect after that weighty statement, allowing Ron to puzzle over where Tonks worked – wasn't she an Auror? His confusion must have been apparent, because Neel continued without letting Ron get pulled further into his own thoughts. "Upon leaving here, you will only know of one of the professions that are possible for you to join – it is unnecessary and undesirable for you to know the occupations of those who will not be working with you."

This effectively taught Ron one of his first lessons about the Department of Mysteries: don't ask questions about what other people do unless it is vital to your own line of work. Still frowning, having accepted this small realization, Ron interjected, "How are you going to figure out where I'll be working?"

At this, Carlotta spoke up. "We'll be asking you one question, after which those of us who will not be working with you will depart and leave you to discuss the details of your career with those who will be working alongside you."

_Seems like she knows more than she's letting on_, Ron thought offhandedly. "Only one question? My answer to _one_ question will decide what I'm going to do for a good part of the rest of my life?"

"Yup. Sometimes life's like that, kid – one choice can change the course of your entire future." A voice that was unfamiliar to Ron answered his question and his head swiveled around to face the one person he hadn't formally met yet, the man who had been sleeping when he entered the room – Chris Reas.

His dirty-blonde hair was sticking up on one side where he had been resting his head on the back of the chair's arm, but his green-blue eyes were bright and alert, as if he hadn't been sleeping for the past half an hour. Unfolding his lithe body out of the chair to lean across the table and shake Ron's hand, Chris smiled apologetically. "Sorry 'bout the cat-nap – late nights kill me."

Ron chuckled and returned the smile. "S'alright – couldn't honestly say I haven't done the same in class a few times." Chris laughed, as did Tonks, before returning to his seat.

Neel looked disgruntled with the interruption and cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the room's occupants back to him. "Let's get on with it, shall we?" A nod of assent swept around the table, and Carlotta opened a roll of parchment she had in front of her. Pushing her spectacles to settle more securely on her nose, she poised her quill above the paper, waiting for them to begin.

Moving to stand behind Carlotta, Neel took a puff of his cigar, letting the silence stand for another minute before he spoke. "Do you think that there is a solution to everything?"

At the time, Ron could never remember feeling more judged, looking at those five faces gazing expectantly at him for his answer. Taking a deep breath, and answering in complete honesty, he said, "Yes, though sometimes you have to find it for yourself."

Carlotta wrote something on the parchment, Tonks grinned broadly, Neel nodded, though his thick brows knotted together in thought, Chris smiled understandingly, and Kinley's expression didn't change a bit from the unconscious scowl he had been wearing the entire meeting.

After watching Carlotta finish writing on the parchment, Neel strode over to where Ron was sitting and smiled for the first time that Ron could remember over the past week. Holding out his hand once he reached Ron's chair (Ron hopped up to return the gesture, though he wasn't quite sure what the handshake was for), Neel said, in what was apparently supposed to be a pleasant voice, "Nice working with you for the past week. Hope you enjoy the rest of your time in the Department."

Ron, still befuddled, watched Neel walk out the door and, in turn, shook hands with Chris ("See you around, kid") and Carlotta ("Pleasant meeting you, Ronald – do stop by for tea some time").

After watching the door close for the last time with a look of utter confusion on his face, Ron turned back to the remaining people in the room – Kinley and Tonks. Still grinning, Tonks didn't get up from her chair, but leaned back in it farther and said cheerily, "Thought your answer would be as much."

Kinley stood up and paced behind his chair for a minute before turning back to Ron with a slight smirk on his sun-weathered face. "Congratulations, Ron – you're going to be a Wauror."

* * *

The present-day Ron was jolted out of his memories by the sharp sting of someone biting his ear. Rubbing it in displeasure, he looked up to see an owl sitting on the bench beside him in the burning sunlight, looking rather annoyed. Ron untied the parchment from the bird's leg and let it sip a few drops of water from his bottle's top before it took off into the sky. He didn't even need to look at the envelope to know what it was, and he sighed, turning the all-too-familiar parchment over in his calloused hands.

For the past three months, Ron had sent a letter every week to Hermione, and every week he had gotten the same letter back, unopened, with no marking on it to show she had acknowledged it at all, except to return it to him.

_**Sendin' pages I ain't supposed to,**_

Under his bunker was a box filled with the letters she had never read, and he knew that as soon as the workday was over, this one would join all the others. For the moment, Ron carefully tucked it into the side compartment of his workbag, next to his wallet. Resisting the urge to take out the picture of him and Hermione on Commencement Day and sit there with tears in his eyes, he quickly zipped up his bag and, after taking one last gulp of water, strode over to where some of his co-workers were talking.

"Bleeding exercises. I nearly got my back broken this time – thanks for that, by the way, Seamus." Jack groaned before leaning back in his chair and using his wand to conjure a wave of water to splash over his face. His chestnut brown hair was now sopping wet and dripping on Ron's shoe, which Ron quickly moved away. He had met Jack Hert three years ago, when he was finally assigned to a section and his station was finalized. They were put in the same group, along with Seamus and two other guys – Pete Aswell and Mike Johnson. Ron ended up getting along with all of them pretty well, and they frequently spent time together after work.

"Anytime," Seamus deadpanned before gulping down water himself – neither of them looked better for wear after their mock battle.

"At least you both still have all of your appendages this time, mate," Pete, a tall blonde-haired, broad-shouldered bloke smirked.

Seamus scowled at him for the reference he made to something that had occurred a few months ago during a training exercise similar to this one, but chose not to comment and continued to guzzle down all the water he could conjure.

Seemingly recovered by now, Jack opened his relaxed brown eyes and questioned in Ron's direction, "Hey, you joining us at the pub tonight? Kinley says we get off in half an hour until eight tomorrow morning. I sure as bloody hell am not gonna waste it here – and preferably, wherever I end up, I won't be alone." He grinned, a somewhat wicked gleam appearing in his eyes.

Ron frowned thoughtfully. His thoughts drifted to Hermione… _But it's over, it's done with. You screwed up, now get over it_. He realized that the other four were waiting for his answer. "Yeah, I'm coming," Ron stated decisively.

His four friends nodded, laughing, and continued their banter. Ron forced himself to join in and push aside any guilty thoughts that were threatening to change his mind.

Two hours later, Ron found himself pushing past what seemed like an endless amount of bodies to get more drinks at the local pub he and his 'coworkers' frequented, mainly because it was close by and the drinks were cheap – who cared if it was technically run by Muggles? Alcohol was the same wherever you drank it, and right then, all Ron wanted was to get as much alcohol in him as possible. He was doing pretty well on that count; he'd already consumed six bottles of a drink the Muggles called something that sounded like Hinnykin and had just been sent up for more by his friends.

He reached the bar and leaned over the counter to shout in an attempt to get the barman's attention. "Oi! Oi, can I get five… er, Hinnykins over here?" Finally, the man nodded to show he'd heard Ron, who leaned his elbows on the counter to wait. Glancing around him, all he could see was what seemed like hundreds of bodies on either side of him, fluctuating to the music's sinuous beat.

After waiting awhile, he felt someone tap him on the shoulder. Expecting it to be the barman with his drinks, he turned around and said irritably, "Finally, mate, what did you do, fall…" but his voice died away when he saw who had tapped him.

Staring back at Ron under heavily mascara-ed eyelashes was a girl whom he could only describe as breathtaking. She had mahogany brown hair falling past her elbows in waves, sparkling blue eyes, a perfect complexion, and was wearing an outfit that Ron was sure he had seen someone wear as a swimming costume once – very short shorts and what looked to be a sports bra… that was much too small.

The girl giggled and Ron immediately closed his mouth with a snap. "Can I help you with anything?"

She giggled again and leaned closer to Ron, who had unconsciously straightened to his full height, before holding out her hand and saying in an all-too-cheerful voice, "I'm Sammy."

Ron took her much smaller hand in his large one, wondering silently whether or not her hand would break if he gripped it too hard, and replied, "Ron. Nice to meet you."

Vaguely, Ron noticed that the barman had finally put the tray of drinks down beside him as Sammy leaned in even farther. On closer inspection, Ron decided that her eyes seemed more glassy than sparkling, and rather than having a perfect complexion, she was wearing a lot of makeup.

"The _pleasure's_ all mine." Sammy giggled again and sipped the cherry-red margarita that she grasped in her left hand. Normally, Ron would have just ignored the suspicion that she had meant more than she had said, but this time, with this girl, he wasn't so sure that what he was thinking wasn't justified.

Motioning to the tray of drinks beside him on the counter, Ron said, "Well, I really should be –"

"You know, I _adore_ redheads."

Ron's blue eyes widened to the size of saucers when Sammy started rubbing his right arm with her free hand. Internally, he shook his head. _What has got into you? A year ago, this wouldn't have fazed you – she'd be drooling over you by this time back then. Get a grip on yourself!_

Somewhere inside him, though, he knew why he wasn't himself. Every time he looked at Sammy, part of his brain would immediately compare her to Hermione, and poor Sammy just couldn't compete.

_**Got somebody here, but I want you, 'cause the feelin' ain't the same…**_

Ron frowned slightly, his indecision weighing him down. _But Hermione isn't here with you now, flirting with you like mad – _Sammy _is. Get over it, Weasley_.

Grabbing one of the five bottles, Ron popped it open and gulped half of it down before grinning down at Sammy. "Do you, now? Well, I think we may have to do something about that."

Sammy giggled again (Ron was noticing she did that a lot) and downed her margarita. "You know, I think we just might." At that, she put her glass down on the bar and pulled Ron after her into the crowd of people on the dance floor. As she turned to him and began rubbing her sweaty body against his, locking her arms as far around his neck as they would go, Ron decided that his friends could wait for their drinks.

Around an hour later, Ron wasn't quite hammered, but he certainly wasn't feeling any pain, especially since he had a very attractive and very drunk girl pressing him up against a wall. Sammy had proceeded to drink two more margaritas and, after forty minutes of dancing (if that's what people are calling what she did to him these days), had pulled Ron outside, only to begin snogging him like there was no tomorrow.

Somehow, twenty minutes after that, Ron found himself in a lust-induced haze up against the wall outside of Sammy's apartment while she tried to find her keys and continue to kiss him all at once. Being intoxicated certainly didn't help the matter any, so Ron took the opportunity to pull his lips away from hers and ask huskily, "Are you sure you want to do this? I think you may have had too many margaritas –" but was silenced by Sammy shouting triumphantly and holding up her keys.

As she clumsily tried to unlock her door, she slurred, "I may have had too many margaritas, but let me tell you one thing: I _always_ know exactly what I want. And right now, I want you." Having opened the door as she finished talking, Sammy grabbed onto the front of Ron's shirt and pulled him forward into the apartment, using her foot to shut the door after her.

In the small, dark living room, Ron found himself being snogged practically to death. Her warm, wet lips were ordering his around, and her body was pressed so close to his that he could feel every muscle moving in her body as they walked backwards - well, he was walking backwards; she was guiding him - through the room.

_Her kisses are too wet, and her lips are just a little bit too small…. Now, Hermione knew exactly how to use – No! Prat, you're snogging an incredibly sexy girl who is _already_ wearing almost nothing and you're thinking about someone else? How thick are you?_ – _Not thick, just madly in love with that someone else_. In an attempt to dissuade his thoughts, Ron returned Sammy's ministrations twice as fervently, roughly picking her up off the floor and continuing to the room that was clearly her bedroom.

Before he knew it, Ron was as naked as the day he was born, and lying on Sammy's bed, kissing her neck and shoulders, slowly moving lower.

However, as Ron reached Sammy's breasts, she let out a heated moan and breathed into his hair, "Now, I want you now!" Not one to disobey a direct order, Ron repositioned himself, eliciting another moan – though this time he wasn't sure if it was from her or himself.

_It's been too long…. _Ron's thoughts were hazy as he continued his actions with…. _Wait, what's her name?_ But when she wrapped her legs around his waist, Ron realized he didn't care.

He closed his eyes and pressed his face into the girl's shoulder, licking her soft skin. Behind his eyelids, memories infiltrated his mind… memories of doing this very thing with the woman he loved, whose name he could actually remember – _Hermione_. Ron groaned, though only half for the reason the girl he was with thought he had. _You're thinking about Hermione again, stop it… don't…._ But as he lost control of his body, he lost control of his mind.

Visions inundated his closed eyes, visions of Hermione when they made love: her brown eyes locked with his, her slightly bushy hair fanning around her head on the pillow, her voice whispering in his ear, her hands rubbing his back, her lips brushing his collarbone, her body shaking beneath his….

Ron was transported there and it seemed he was in Hermione's apartment, in her bed. He swore he could hear her breathless voice calling his name. It was her he was with, her that was making him lose control…. Suddenly, he cried out hoarsely a promise yet to be fulfilled, "Hermione…."

_**Find myself callin' her your name…**_

Gasping for breath and shuddering, Ron lay still, slowly coming down.

A shrill voice cut through his haze like an axe through butter, "Who is _she_?"

Ron's eyes snapped open as he remembered where he was and that he had not just made love to Hermione, but had just had sex with… _with… oh bloody hell! Did I say Hermione's name out loud? Blast, I think I did. Bugger, bugger, bugger!_ "Who is who?" _Maybe playing dumb will work…_ _I think she's hammered enough to buy it, actually…._

"This – this _Herminey_ person you just yelled about!" _Or not…. _"And don't you dare try to say that it was a mistake. There is no way _that_ atrocity for a name comes even close to sounding like 'Sammy'!"

_Oh, _Sammy_! That's her name! Hey, I think Hermione is a beautiful name - wait, bugger, I better think of an excuse q-_ Ron's train of thought was interrupted as said girl roughly pushed Ron off of her and out of the bed to land on the floor. "OW! Bloody hell! What was that for?"

Standing there in all her naked glory, Sammy was wildly waving her hands around in the air, gesturing as she spoke, only a little slurred. "I don't settle for… for whatever that word is that has to do with you not being, like, _totally_ here with me! Get out!"

Ron shook his head and held up his right hand in what he hoped to be a peaceful gesture as he hurriedly pulled on his boxers with his left one. "Wait a minute, Sammy, I can explain –"

"I don't want you to explain, get_ out_!" At this, Sammy picked up a rolled-up newspaper and began to beat Ron with it as hard as she could – wherever she could reach, anyway.

"Hey, wait – ow! Stop that! Sammy –" Ron sputtered, trying to fend off her attack with his hands. Suddenly, he realized how ludicrous this would have looked to a third party; here he was, a grown man at the towering height of six feet, three and a half inches, trained in the most advanced wizard fighting techniques, being beaten with a _newspaper_ by a naked five-foot-something girl, not particularly physically strong, who may or may not have been his age.

Before he knew it, Ron was doubled over laughing in the middle of the room, clad in his boxers, his pants pulled up only to his knees, completely oblivious to the fact that Sammy had stopped her attack in confusion at his reaction. As he laughed hysterically at the mess he'd gotten himself into, the annoying voice in the back of his head nonchalantly mused, _You know, Hermione probably could have crippled you with just that newspaper – that woman knows how to take care of herself. And you, for that matter._ The memory of Hermione sobered Ron enough so that he could shake his head, stand up completely, and finish pulling on his pants.

Wanting to retreat before Sammy started to hit him again, Ron quickly gathered the rest of his belongings and turned to her with an apologetic, still half-amused, smile. "Sorry, Sammy," was the last thing Ron uttered before walking out of the bedroom. As he got to the apartment's door, a thought struck him, and using his shirt to cover what he was actually doing, he pointed his wand at Sammy (who was standing across the apartment and staring at him as if he was a lunatic) and quietly muttered a Contraceptive Charm. Then he turned around, walked out the door, and didn't look behind him once before Apparating to the safe point outside the barracks.

Before going inside the gates, Ron slipped on his blue button-down shirt (the one that still faintly smelled and reminded him of Hermione) and glanced at his watch. He realized with a start that he didn't need to be back at the barracks for around ten hours yet. Frowning slightly, Ron studied the gates of the place where he spent almost all of his time. He thought vaguely of returning to see if his friends were still at the bar but quickly decided against that – he didn't want to go back there any time soon.

So, in a moment of indecision, he abruptly turned around and began to walk.

- - - - - - - - - -

Hermione sighed and leaned back in her chair as she listened to the distracting chatter of the interns on the late-night shift at the Ministry. In an attempt to keep herself distracted at all times from thoughts of one insufferable redhead, Hermione usually tried to work the late shifts, when she could work them around her sessions with Minerva. Now normally, she would have put spells up in order to silence the high-pitched talk of the younger girls, but tonight, before she had put up the necessary charms, she had heard a tidbit of a discussion that intrigued her.

"Annie, I can't _believe_ he asked you that!"

"Oh, I know! That's horrible!"

The third girl was what interested Hermione, though, because through her friends' protests to something, she sat there quietly, not saying a word, clearly lost in thought. She had sandy blonde hair tied in a loose bun behind her head, gorgeous long eyelashes, and strands of hair that fell out of the bun hid her eyes from sight and scrutiny.

"He is such an arse, Annie –"

"But I love him." Finally the third girl spoke. The other two stopped abruptly, looking at her incredulously.

The tall, platinum blonde one found her voice long enough to squeak, "Don't you get what he's asking you? Friends with benefits –"

"He asked you to be 'friends-with-benefits'?" Hermione interrupted sharply, drawing scandalized glances from the friends of Annie. The latter, however, just raised her head to look into Hermione's brown eyes with sad gray-green ones and nodded.

Ignoring the other two interns, Hermione stood up and walked over to occupy a chair near Annie, and took the younger girl's hand. "You're absolutely sure about how you feel about him?" Annie nodded again. "Then say no." A confused look graced Annie's face, to which Hermione bent her head and smiled sadly. "Trust me, if you love someone, becoming friends-with-benefits is the last thing you want to do. If you really love him, tell him. Whatever happens will happen, but the heartache buried in the other option is just not worth _anything_."

Hermione raised her head to find Annie studying her face closely before nodding and smiling. Her voice was low and decisive when she spoke, "Yeah… you're right. Thank you."

Sighing happily, Hermione returned the smile, though the shadows in her eyes belied how she was really feeling at that moment, thinking about friends-with-benefits. "No problem… Annie, right? I'm Hermione."

Annie grinned. "Yeah – nice to meet you." The two laughed, then Hermione stood up to return to her desk, allowing a soft sniffle to escape her lips, and Annie returned to her two miffed friends.

Before she could re-seat herself, though, Annie spoke again. "Hermione? How did you know… I mean, have you – that is, if it isn't…." She trailed off uneasily as Hermione turned to look at her.

_**Ladies, tell me do you understand?**_

Allowing regret to enter her face, Hermione sighed, looking at the floor briefly before returning Annie's gaze. "Yes… I recently agreed to be one of my best friend's 'friends-with-benefits.' Let's just say that it ruined one of the best things to have ever happened to me." Not even attempting to smile anymore, Hermione turned to walk back into her office, and this time, instead of leaving the door open, she locked it tight. Though she charmed the door to block all sounds, she wasn't able to get rid of her tears, which began to stream down her face. All her denial of what had happened was for naught, now, as she kneeled on the floor of her office, crying enough to fill oceans, letting the memories of Ron Weasley burn her soul like the fire of a thousand flames.

- - - - - - - - - -

Ron found himself walking up and down the streets of a town he had never been to before, into alleyways and through buildings that were completely unfamiliar and oddly comforting. Though Ron's section was based in this town, the only place they ever ventured to was the pub, and that was quite close to the barracks – their hectic schedule didn't allow them much time out of work, and whenever they had free time (until recently), Ron would usually return to London. All that was different now, of course. Ron couldn't bear to go somewhere that would remind him of Hermione. Thus, the fact that he had no idea where he was made him feel more relaxed than he had for three months.

Yet despite his attempts to block out anything regarding Hermione, including the past few hours, Ron's mind drifted back to what could have turned into one of the most embarrassing moments of his life. _Oh, wait, it _was_ one of the most embarrassing moments of my life! Look at that_, Ron reflected irritably. _How could I have said her name while with someone else? Well, at least I never have to see Sammy again, so that solves that_... _and you might never see _Hermione_ again, either, so _all_ your problems are solved!_ The evil little voice was back.

"No!" Ron shouted vehemently into the night air, scaring a group of teenage girls - who were much too young to be wearing those outfits – so much that they scurried away from him and across the street. Grunting petulantly, he continued to walk, albeit at a slightly faster pace.

_No, someday I _will_ see her again, and I _will_ tell her how I feel, and everything _will_ be back to normal_. But Ron knew that wasn't true… nothing would ever be normal between the two of them again. And he would probably never be able to tell Hermione how he felt, either.

_It's the thought that counts, though, right?_

Frowning sadly, Ron continued to walk down the lamp-lit streets that were filled with happy people, head bowed and oblivious to anything but the fear that he would never be happy again without Hermione nearby.

Of course, walking down a decently populated street and not watching where one's going is never a good idea if one wants to avoid walking into people, so it was no real surprise when Ron walked straight into another person - oddly enough, a person he recognized.

"Harry?" Ron gaped incredulously, reaching a hand out to his black-haired friend, whom he had knocked backwards onto the sidewalk. "What are you doing here?"

Adjusting his glasses and patting down his shirt, Harry grinned at Ron, green eyes twinkling in the streetlights. "We've been practicing at a field they've set up near the town. What are _you_ doing here?"

"Oh, ah, we're set up outside of town too, for practice and stuff." Ron hated being so vague, but it was part of his job description to be "mysterious" after all.

Harry simply nodded in understanding. The two best friends just stood there looking at each other for a moment before embracing in a long, yet very manly, hug, laughing.

"Good to see you, mate! It's been-" Harry began, mussing his hair – old habits die hard.

"-too long." Ron finished, grinning. "So how've you been? How is… everyone?" He succeeded well in not asking the question that had been on the tip of his tongue – asking how Hermione had been.

"I'm great, really, the team is doing really well and we might have a shot at the Cup next year."

"That's bloody fantastic!"

"Yeah, I'm really happy doing this. Anyway, everyone's fine, I think…. I ran into your Dad last week and he said that the family's doing fine and Ginny seems to be enjoying her training in South Africa. Though I guess you'd know all that through their letters, huh?"

Ron nodded, and acquiesced to the fact that it seemed he would just have to ask that question he was hoping would have been answered first. "Yeah… so, erm, how's Hermione doing? Have you seen her recently?"

Harry seemed to be thinking when he replied, "Er, yeah, I saw her a few weeks ago. She seemed all right… but haven't you been keeping in contact with her yourself?"

"Er, well, not so much, I, er, haven't heard from her in ages, really…" Ron stuttered uncomfortably.

Raising an eyebrow at his friend's reaction, Harry didn't push the matter; clearly Ron seemed to not want to talk about it.

After a decently odd pause, Ron cleared his throat and said, "D'you fancy a drink?" He motioned to a café right behind where Harry was standing.

Harry nodded, and the two of them grabbed a seat at one of the tables outside. After putting their orders in (both black coffee), Ron looked at his friend. It really had been too long since they had seen each other and just hung out, enjoying the other's company. He realized he really missed being at Hogwarts, where they could see each other every day. "So, you found a girl to settle down with yet?" Ron teased, appreciating the eye-roll that Harry rewarded him with.

"No, not so much. Can't seem to find one I want to spend more than a couple of days with."

"And nights," Ron quipped.

Harry laughed. "And nights," he agreed. At that moment, their coffee arrived, and there was a pause in the conversation as they set to trying to drink their coffee without scorching their tongues (had they been in a magical area, they would have simply used their wands to cool the liquid for them, but this town seemed to be primarily inhabited by Muggles).

"Howabout you?" Harry asked over his too-full coffee cup.

Not really paying attention, Ron replied absentmindedly, "Howabout me what?"

"Have you found the love of your life yet?"

Ron spat out the coffee he had just sipped onto the sidewalk and his pants, swearing. Harry, obviously surprised at the reaction he had gotten from this only half-serious question, handed Ron a bunch of serviettes, which he took gratefully, attempting to dry the burning liquid as much as possible. After he had done as much as he could to dry off, Ron leaned back in his chair, trying to slow his speeding heart rate.

"You all right, mate?" Harry asked kindly, a surprised look still on his face.

"Yup, yeah, I'm fine, perfect, great, super, never better." It didn't help that, at that moment, an image of a smiling Hermione popped into his head. Ron yelped as quietly as possible and busied himself in taking large gulps of his coffee.

"All right, tell me. What's wrong?"

"What? No, nothing's wrong, I'm fine."

"Ron…."

Ron sighed. "Oh, all right." He paused, deciding that maybe talking about it would help. After thinking for a minute, he took a deep breath. "So, around a year ago, I suppose, I started this relationship with a girl at my work that I've got to know pretty well. Okay, so I reckon it wasn't really a relationship… it was more of a 'friends-with-benefits' thing. You've heard of that, yeah?" Harry nodded, outwardly unsure of where this was going, as Ron plowed determinedly on. "So, okay, it was going fine… actually, it was brilliant. I've never been as happy with anyone as I am when I'm with her; it was perfect. Except that we were still technically friends. And then, three months ago, we had a big fight about it and she told me that she was seeing someone, and that was that. I left and I haven't heard from her since. She won't reply to _any_ of my owls, and it's been driving me mad! I just – I miss her so much, you know? And I don't know what to do."

_**Now all my fellas do you feel my pain? It's the way I feel…**_

All through that, a gleam was growing stronger and stronger in Harry's emerald green eyes, though when Ron glanced up, the suspicious smile that was threatening to burst out into the open was well concealed. Looking sympathetic, Harry nodded. Ron let out a deep breath – it felt so good to get all of that at least partially into the open.

After thinking for a moment, Harry inquired, "Right… well, what exactly happened in the fight, anyway?"

Unsure of how to tell Harry this without making it completely obvious who it had been, Ron stumbled over his response. "Oh… well, erm, I was going to go… do something for work, without telling her, and she got really upset and was talking about how it was time we ended it and stuff and that it had been eventual that it would end anyway, and when I asked why it really needed to end, she said she had a boyfriend, and then…." Ron gulped, hesitating. "And then she asked me to give her a reason for it to continue and I just… I couldn't. So she made me leave." His head dropped into his hands, trying to press back the tears that he would refuse to shed in the presence of his best friend.

Harry reached over to pat his friend's back. "And you haven't talked to her since then?"

"No. She won't reply to any of my owls, and since she lives in – er, since she's assigned to a different post than I am I never saw her regularly in the first place, so this makes it even harder to see her. And I'm sure she doesn't want to see me ever again…. That morning, right before I left, she said, 'We need some time apart as friends.'" Ron let out a harsh laugh. "Plus, she also ruined any hopes of anything ever happening between us that even resembles a relationship, seeing as she also said, and I quote, 'It was the idea of _you_ and _me_ that's the problem. Which is why we need to end this.' Blast, I'll never forget those words. It's just like at the bloody Ball, when she said that we're '_just_ best friends….'" Ron trailed off, realizing that he had perhaps let go of too much information. "Er, there's this ball that we have every year… the… the, ah, Department Ball, you know. And, er, we'd become quite close…." _Merlin, that is the lamest cover _ever_, jackass_, Ron berated himself.

Looking at Harry, Ron was surprised that it seemed he had accepted that excuse and was staring thoughtfully into his coffee cup.

It was a few minutes before Harry spoke again, seeming to still be half absorbed in thought. "Must say, mate, that friends-with-benefits idea sounds fairly stupid to me."

Ron glared at him and shot back crossly, "No shite. Gee, I wonder why I didn't think of that – I'm only madly in love with her and even being around her makes me feel lightheaded and stops my brain from functioning properly."

"As if it ever did in the first place." Harry smirked at the scowl Ron now wore on his face, before continuing, "You should try to talk to her, see if you can fix it."

"Bloody hell, Harry, haven't you been listening? I _can't_ fix it! It's over and I don't know how to make it stop hurting. I feel as if I'm going to implode and explode all at once and there's nothing I can do about it."

Harry studied his face before saying quietly, "Nothing's over 'til you're dead."

After pausing to consider the possible truth of that statement, Ron sighed darkly. "Well, this is. She'll never speak to me again – and the worst part is, she isn't even my friend anymore. She's just… gone. And she won't come back."

_**I know I made a mistake, now it's too late… I know she ain't comin' back.**_

Looking away over the city, Ron studiously ignored the frustrated sigh that escaped Harry's lips and the look he was giving Ron.

Harry glanced at his watch and, after fishing some Muggle money out of his pocket and putting it on the table, he tapped Ron's arm to get his attention. "Look, Ron, you obviously care for… this girl very much and I seriously think you should consider not letting it go. Do you want to look back the rest of your life wondering what could have been?" Ron shook his head, knowing his best friend was right. "Think about it. Anyway, I have to go – we have practice early tomorrow morning. Hey, owl me the next time you have a night off, all right? We're gonna be staying around here for a while, I think."

Ron nodded numbly and replied quietly, "I will. And… thanks, Harry." The two best friends smiled at each other before Harry clapped Ron on the back and turned to walk down the dimly lit street, pulling the collar of his cloak up against the chilly night wind.

After sitting there for a few minutes, staring after the one honestly good friend (whom he wasn't related to) that he had left, Ron suddenly had a vague idea of what he had to do. Ascertaining that it was eleven o'clock (_Not too late_, he decided), Ron dumped a few Muggle coins on the table to pay for his drink and walked determinedly down the street, now knowing exactly where he was going.

Ten minutes later, Ron reached the inner line of trees in the forest right outside the town. After he double-checked that he was the only person in the area, he Disapparated.

- - - - - - - - - -

_Finally_, Hermione thought, _I am out of there. I don't think I could have taken their pity-filled looks for even another second!_ After the talk she had had with the younger interns, they had obviously gotten the hint that something had happened to her very recently to make her depressed, and proceeded to tiptoe around her the rest of the night. Thankfully, they hadn't questioned her about it, but the fact that they seemed so determined _not_ to ask her just plain pissed Hermione off.

Currently, she was walking down the street leading up to her house, very much looking forward to a small, private sob session before bed. As she reached the door to her apartment, keys already in hand, someone tapped her on the shoulder.

Turning around, she was surprised to see that certain face there, talking to her, of all people. "Oh, hello."

- - - - - - - - - -

Ron immediately arrived in the dark alleyway not too far from Hermione's apartment. He couldn't have Apparated directly into her building because it was a Muggle building and she had warned him, and Harry, for that matter, never to Apparate directly into it because Muggles had invented these things called carmens, which visually recorded everything in front of them.

He nervously flattened his hair as he started towards the building. But he hadn't expected the sight that reached his eyes at the entrance: Hermione talking to –

- - - - - - - - - -

A very handsome, tall, chestnut haired man with piercing gray eyes said cheerfully, "Hey, Hermione."

"Hi, Logan. What're you doing here so late?" Hermione had gone out with Logan Goldman a few times in the past months, but it wasn't particularly serious, and it certainly hadn't led to sex (as of that moment, in any case). They had met at a dinner the Magical Creatures division had hosted for its employees, discovered they had a number of similar interests, and gone out for coffee right after that event – and they had continued to meet every so often.

"I was having a drink with a few of my mates in that coffee shop across the street" – Logan motioned in the direction of one of the three coffee shops on Hermione's street, at which Hermione squinted because she could have sworn she saw someone very familiar with brightly colored hair walk out of the alleyway nearby… but then decided she must have been hallucinating, and continued to listen to Logan - "when I saw you walk by and I thought I'd come to say hello." Logan gave her a smile, which she returned, her eyes still flicking to that coffee shop, hoping against hope that her hallucination had been anything but.

To her surprise, Logan took a step closer to her, taking a lock of her hair in his fingers and proceeding to play with it as he spoke softly, clearly flirting. "I was thinking maybe we could go out sometime this week. I've missed you – you always seem to be busy."

Mildly flattered, Hermione chuckled nervously. "Oh, yeah, busy time at work, you know, those goblins just seem to get greedier…."

Logan laughed as if it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. "So, how does Tuesday sound to you, around seven? I know a great little place we can Apparate to, fantastic Portuguese food."

Smiling bemusedly as Logan continued to wind her hair around his finger, Hermione replied, "Yeah, sounds great."

"So I'll pick you up here, then?" Logan continued, satisfied, and oblivious to how preoccupied Hermione was acting.

"Sure, see you then." Before he turned around to jog back over to the coffee shop, Logan pecked a chaste kiss on Hermione's lips.

- - - - - - - - - -

All Ron saw was a decently attractive man talking to the girl he was sure he was meant to be with. _You idiot, how could you have forgotten that she has a boyfriend?_ Halting at the entrance of the alleyway, Ron froze as he saw the man move closer to her and begin to play with her hair, talking in a very intimate way.

Mesmerized, Ron couldn't look away, but the moment the attractive and seemingly perfect other man's lips touched hers, his original intention of coming here to try and talk with Hermione (despite the fact that he never really had a clear idea of what he had planned to say) flew out the metaphorical window. He watched as the man straightened and headed for the coffee shop Ron himself was standing next to. He watched as Hermione's beautiful brown eyes followed the man, a smile that wasn't really a smile gracing her face. He watched as she turned the lock on the building's door and disappeared inside, along with any vague thought Ron had of trying to fix this.

_She's bloody seeing someone. This shouldn't be such a surprise, prat, she _told_ you that she was going out with someone. So, he's the one she chose instead of me…. _Ron had to use every ounce of the self control he had learned during training to not walk over and pummel the bloke to the ground. Forget wands – Ron wanted to kill him with his bare hands. _This_ was the man who had taken the love of his life away from him. _This_ was the man who had destroyed his life. _This_ was the man who had beaten him again, the man who was better than him. _This_ was the man whom he couldn't do a bloody damned thing to.

Instead, Ron turned around to go back into the alleyway, watching carefully to make sure no one saw him. Standing in the dark shadows for a moment, trying to block out the noise of the happy people in the coffee shops and on the sidewalk, Ron attempted to calm himself down. He had learned the hard way, more than once, that Apparating when you're distressed had very unwanted effects.

_Once again, I'm Apparating away from her. I can't get her back… I'm just so lost without her._ Ron closed his eyes and made himself Apparate away, to a life ahead with too many feelings and no love.

_**What I gotta do now to get my shorty back? Man, I don't know what I'm gonna do without my boo…**_

- - - - - - - - - -

Hermione looked after Logan as he walked away, but he wasn't really what she was watching. A small part of her was convinced she hadn't been hallucinating, there _had_ been a flash of red hair walking outside the coffee shop. _But it clearly wasn't the _right_ red hair, idiot; he isn't the only person in England who has red hair_. Hermione sighed and knew she was just hoping for some things to be true even though they weren't. After a moment of prolonging her unfounded hopes, she turned and unlocked the door, heading to her solitary apartment.

Going up the stairs and then walking along the dim hallway, she wasn't really watching where she was going, still absorbed in between many conflicting emotions: pleasant surprise that Logan had asked her out again, guilt that she had agreed to go out with Logan again, anger that she was feeling guilty, and heartache because the reason she wanted to have for feeling guilty was off working somewhere and would be gone for months more - not that she had exactly encouraged him to come see her.

She wasn't really sure why she refused to read Ron's letters. There were conflicting thoughts about that, too. Mainly, Hermione rationalized that she was simply hurt because all he had needed her for was sex and she was still stupidly in love with him. In the end, she had decided she didn't want to know what was inside those letters, because logically, the only reason he would be writing to her was to try to convince her to have another go at the detestable friends-with-benefits relationship. Though the more sensible part of her mind always seemed to ponder on the fact that he was still the best friend she had known for over fourteen years, Hermione just couldn't bear the thought of him trying to ask her to start again... and she was afraid she wouldn't be able to refuse him.

_What about that man is so bloody overwhelming?_ She wondered angrily, attempting and failing twice to unlock her door. After the third try, she screamed "Bugger!" in frustration before kicking the door and collapsing to the ground, her back leaning against the door and arms crossed. "Does _nothing_ ever go right in my life?" she muttered wrathfully, studiously ignoring the frightened look she got from her 74 year-old neighbor, Jacob, who shuffled past at just the right moment.

Abruptly, Hermione realized just how stupid she must look and how childish she was acting. Shaking her head at the mini-tantrum she had just thrown for no legitimate reason, Hermione was able to successfully unlock her door without having to resort to magic. After dumping her coat and purse on the couch, she moved to check to see if she had received any voice messages while she was out (having all-Muggle relatives, she really needed to have _some_ Muggle communication devices; along with a magically-altered television, one of the electronic devices she owned that her parents had insisted she get was a telephone).

The screen showed a blinking '1,' so Hermione pressed the play button before going in search of a glass in which to pour herself some water.

After the machine-man spoke the regulatory introduction, and a beep, Hermione was so surprised to hear Harry's voice that she stopped in the middle of opening a cupboard to listen.

"Hey, Hermione! I thought you'd be home by now… oh well," machine Harry said, barely to be heard above a large amount of noise in the background. "You're probably surprised that I'm calling instead of just sending you an owl, but I thought this might get to you a little quicker. I'm in a pub right now, actually, and you won't believe who I just ran into – Ron!" Hermione's heart skipped a beat. (_See?_ The mean little voice countered. _That couldn't have been Ron you saw, he was out at a _pub.) "Yeah, turns out he's based in the same place that they just built our new practice field. I was wondering, he said you two haven't really been keeping in touch – did you get in a row before he left the Burrow the last time or something?"

Hermione was hearing a sharp beeping in her ears to the double-time beating of her heart – _Wait, isn't that supposed to be ringing? Oh, right, that's the machine, not my head_, Hermione realized, thankful she wasn't going insane.

"Oh, blast, I've run out of coins. Right, so I was wondering if you wanted to meet up some time next week for supper? To catch up and all – seems like we haven't seen each other in ages! Just owl me when you get the chance. Cheers!" The machine clicked and the voice of her best friend disappeared.

It took a minute for Hermione to realize she was supporting all her body weight with the kitchen worktop, gripping onto it as if it was the only thing keeping her alive. _I can't believe he saw Ron… and that they're going to be working in the same town! It isn't fair_…. She shook her head, releasing her grip on the counter, only to slide down to the floor. _You shouldn't care, you and Ron aren't speaking anyway –_

– _But I miss him so much_.

Staring at an unidentified spot on her white kitchen wall, Hermione numbly acknowledged that there were tears running down her cheeks to splash on the cold tile beneath her. She began to sob harder, not moving an inch, the tears coming in silent torrents down her face. Suddenly, she gave up trying to hold it in, and put her head into her hands, the same thoughts repeating over and over again in her mind: _I miss him so much it hurts! Make it stop hurting… make me stop loving him…_ _I feel so lost without him…._

_**You've been gone for too long… it's been fifty-eleven days, umpteen hours, I'm gonna be burnin' 'til you return.**_

**_- + - + - + - + - + -_**

Two weeks later, sweat was dripping down Ron's face as he shot a spell straight at a masked person. "_Venas!_" he yelled as loud as he could, the purple beam of light hitting its target squarely in the chest. On contact, a red line of blood immediately began flowing down the coarse, brown robes. The person stopped mid-stride, mouth mid-shout, eyes behind the mask widening numbly, wand pointing uselessly at Ron.

It seemed like an eternity before the nameless one collapsed onto the plant-filled dirt, robes nearly blending into the ground, mask sliding off of… her face, black eyes staring sightlessly skyward.

Breathing deeply, Ron wiped his left hand over his forehead. Never moving his wand down, he yelled, "Clover!" shattering the empty forest's deafening quiet. Within a minute, Seamus appeared out of the underbrush, not even glancing at the body still on the ground as he stepped over it to get to Ron.

"Check the body before we move out," Ron said, eyes scanning the trees around them.

Not needing an explanation, Seamus nodded before turning back to the corpse, raising his wand and muttering an incantation as he slowly moved his wand through the air above it.

Ron knew he needed to be concentrating; they were on a mission that was almost successfully completed. It wouldn't do to blow it now, especially not with their review coming up in a couple of weeks, but the fact that it was a woman under that cloak had opened a door to a memory buried inside him. Not to say that in the past three years since he had officially finished training he hadn't fought and taken down cruel women who had deserved what she got, it was just that the eyes of the woman who he had killed triggered something inside him, a very unpleasant memory of the Last Battle.

"Done, I'll take her." Seamus glanced back at Ron, who nodded sharply with assent, before grabbing the cloth of the victim's robes and Disapparating.

Taking one last glance around, Ron was assured that there wasn't another soul in the forest, and he quickly Apparated to the M.A. (Mission Arrival) room at the base.

While debriefing with Kinley, Ron had trouble keeping his mind off of those haunting eyes set deeply in that stranger's face, a woman he didn't know who reminded him of one he had known once but wished he never knew existed.

Once he was free to go get showered and relax for what was left of the night, Ron marched off down the hallway, intending to go back to the sleeping quarters as soon as he made a short detour. Taking a right instead of a left, he quickly arrived at the mini-mortuary they had for victims of missions. Soon the body would be taken to the closest proper wizard mortuary, but that wouldn't be for another couple of hours yet, when they had someone to spare for an hour or two.

Looking through the glass windows, Ron knew immediately the woman lying on the table was the one he had just killed, her deeply set eye sockets guaranteeing that. In traditional respect for the dead, whoever had put her in there had closed her eyes, but the image of those cold black portals wavered tauntingly in the forefront of Ron's mind.

He was reminded of a woman with midnight hair, and a history even darker, who had tortured his friend's parents into madness. Of a soulless woman who had almost killed the woman he loved -

_No_, Ron halted his thoughts abruptly, _don't think about _her. _Remember, Lestrange has been dead for seven years – though you didn't have anything to do with that, unfortunately – and _she_ is fine, safe and sound in London with her boyfriend._

Aware that he didn't want anyone to see him standing alone down this hallway, Ron turned away just as abruptly as he had stopped and walked briskly back to his bunker.

_I can't keep thinking about _her_, I need to get on with my life_, Ron told himself as walked down empty hallways. _And I have a date in a couple of nights with that girl Mike set me up with, a friend of his sister or something. No thinking about _her

One last turn and Ron entered his thankfully empty bunker. Stripping into his undershirt and boxers, choosing to shower either later or in the morning, Ron lay down on his bed and closed his eyes… only to have pictures of the one person he couldn't let himself think about push their way into his mind. "Bloody hell," Ron muttered, his eyes opening warily to stare at the bottom of the bed above his. He turned his head to the side and caught a glimpse of the box containing those letters that he told himself repeatedly he needed to stop saving.

Reaching over, Ron pulled the box out from under the bed so that he could look at it. His brows furrowed deeply, injured azure eyes studying the box as his mind studied the thoughts that were rolling around his exhausted brain. Finally, Ron made a decision and drew his wand out to point it at the box. "_Incendio,_" he growled, hoping that watching the flames destroy his failed attempts at communicating with _her_ would soothe him, help him to get to sleep, or at least help him to forget about her for a little while.

When the remnants of the box were almost gone, Ron's eyes almost closed, but just before his lids dropped, he caught sight of four words that made his eyes fill up with tears that weren't going to be shed. They weren't.

A last charred piece of paper disappeared into ashes, once inscribed with '_I love you, Hermione_….'

_**I'm twisted 'cause one side of me is tellin' me that I need to move on, on the other side I wanna break down and cry.**_

**_- - - - - - - - - - -_**

"And then, the house elf said 'Actually, sir, it was me!'"

Hermione laughed at the punch line of Logan's joke as they walked down the night-bathed streets of London.

As Logan started talking again, Hermione's eyes wandered to the cheerful people walking past them, happy that work was over and their real lives could begin.

She saw the back of a man's head that had raven-black hair reminiscent of her best friend's. Unable to pay attention, Hermione let her mind wander to the week before, when she had met up with said best friend for the first time in months.

* * *

"Harry!" Hermione squealed, just as when they were in Hogwarts, at seeing her best friend sitting at a booth in the restaurant they had agreed to meet at for lunch.

After twisting around in his seat and pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, Harry grinned when he saw Hermione behind him and quickly stood up to envelope her in a hug. "Hermione! It's so good to see you!"

_He hugs a lot like my dad_, Hermione mused, _warm and comforting_. "We need to meet more often," she said, smiling happily up at him.

"Absolutely," Harry agreed as he pulled her chair out for her before seating himself in the seat facing her. "So, how're the elves? Won them health benefits yet?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes and was about to scold Harry when he started laughing. Realizing that he had been teasing her, she joined in laughing, taking the menu the waiter was handing her.

As they skimmed the menus, occasionally pointing out something that sounded good, they resumed their conversation.

"Seriously, how's it been going at work?" Harry asked, green eyes lighting up occasionally when he saw a dish he liked the look of.

"Fine, uneventful, really. I rarely have much to do. A sixteen-year-old could do this job," Hermione muttered.

Harry looked up from the menu, raising an eyebrow as a smile quirked the corner of his mouth. "Oh? Are my ears deceiving me? Is Ms. Hermione Granger, Elf-Rights-Activist-Extraordinaire, actually _bored_ working as Director of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?"

Shooting him the briefest of one of her trademark glares, Hermione shot back, "Shut it, Mr. Potter. Otherwise, if I get the job I've been training for, I could take away _all_ of your House Points."

There was a pause in the conversation as they ordered, but Harry's confused look remained on his face through the duration. "Care to explain that? You've been training for something?"

Hermione made a big show of taking a long sip of water before answering. "Yes, for a year and a half now I've been training with Minerva – yes, McGonagall – to take over her position as Transfiguration teacher when Dumbledore chooses to retire and she becomes Headmistress - which, frankly, I'm hoping will be sometime soon, because in all honesty, I'm bored to pieces at the Ministry." She looked up to see Harry staring at her, agape. Smiling, she reached across to tap his chin upwards to close his mouth.

He came to his senses and grinned broadly. "That's bloody brilliant – wait 'til Ron hears this, he always said you were McGonagall Junior!"

At the mention of _him_, Hermione moved her eyes down to where her fingers began fiddling with her serviette. "Oh… well, how do you know I haven't told him already?"

She could feel Harry's eyes penetrating her façade and chose to ignore him and continue studying her lap. "He said you two haven't been speaking. What happened, anyway?"

"Between me and Ron? Oh, nothing, nothing at all." She cursed the fact that her voice got smaller and smaller the longer this part of the conversation went on.

"Then, what's the matter? And don't you dare say 'nothing.' I can tell, you aren't acting as if there's nothing the matter, that's for bloody sure." Hermione could tell that Harry was getting annoyed, and sighed.

"Don't swear," she said, before smiling sadly and moving her head up to meet Harry's angry gaze, which turned into worry at the sight of her face. Just then, their main courses arrived, at which Hermione thanked the stars because she was able to let the conversation lapse into silence as they ate.

Twenty minutes later, as their plates were being cleared away, Harry brought the conversation back to what Hermione least wanted to talk about. "What's been going on that's got you so upset?"

After hesitating for as long as she could, setting her fork and knife primly on her plate at 4 o'clock, Hermione sighed. _Might as well tell him, at least part of it anyway; he _is_ my best friend – my _only_ best friend, now_. "Well…there was this guy I had been dating awhile ago –"

"This Logan bloke you mentioned?" Harry interrupted, leaning back in his chair and clearly getting ready for a long talk.

"No!" Hermione rebuffed, a little too quickly. "I mean… I am seeing Logan now, but he isn't who I'm talking about. This guy… is someone else." A sad smile flitted across her face. "He really is something… I've known him for so long, a work connection. Anyway, we were dating, and it was going fine… actually, it was brilliant. I know I've never felt about anyone the way I feel – felt about him; the whole thing was almost perfect. He just…" she paused, searching for a way to tell this as accurately as possible without mentioning the dreaded 'friends-with-benefits' concept, "didn't seem as committed as I was. And then, three months ago, he tried to leave to go somewhere for work without telling me, and we fought, and it blew out of proportion… just like it always does."

Harry had been studying her face during this, and when he noticed a rogue tear of frustration escape her eye, he leaned forward and wiped it away. "What do you mean it blew out of proportion?" he asked gently.

Sighing again for the umpteenth time in five minutes, Hermione attempted to hold her emotions in check as she continued. "I suppose it was inevitable, really… but I just said some things I suppose I didn't really mean and some things that were just outright lies… but he didn't help at all! He was being a jealous prat, to start off. And I basically _told_ him that I wanted to keep it going, but he just… didn't say anything. Again! He never said anything when it was important…. We were standing right there, looking at each other, and he just shook his head! And that was it! Argh, it's just like the stupid Ball! I was standing right there, waiting for him to say something, but... nothing!"

Hermione could tell her cheeks were pink with anger and the effort of trying not to cry, but she didn't care. Finally, though, she pulled herself out of her thoughts and saw Harry looking at her curiously. "What?"

"What Ball?" was all he said, appearing to be simply curious.

_Bugger!_ "Er…th-there's a… Department Ball every year, you know. And, er, he went with me a few years ago…" she stuttered, flustered that she had let that detail slip.

"Oh, right." Harry nodded. "So he left?"

"Yes."

"Has he tried to contact you at all?"

"Yes, he owls me."

"How often?"

"Once a week."

"Do you respond to any of them?"

"No."

"But he keeps sending them?"

"Yes."

"Sounds to me like he still cares about you."

"Not very bloody likely," Hermione scoffed. "More like he still wants to sha-" she broke off abruptly, pretending to cough and keenly aware of what she had just been about to say.

"Ah…" was all Harry muttered, frowning in thought and, thankfully, ignoring what she had almost said. After a minute, he sighed and leaned forward on the table to look Hermione straight in the eyes. "Look, Hermione, you clearly care about this bloke a lot, whoever he is, and whatever you say, I think he still cares about you. Call it best friend's intuition, if you will. In any case, I say you should contact him; owl or something. If it was as perfect as you say, you shouldn't let it go so easily."

"You don't understand, Harry. I have to let it go," Hermione replied softly. Looking at her hands in her lap, tears pooling in her eyes, she muttered under her breath, "I've been hiding it for so long now the rest of my life won't make much of a difference."

She could hear Harry sigh in pity. "Nothing's over 'til you're dead," he pronounced quietly.

"This is." The finality in her tone was enough to shock even herself out of her reverie and dry the tears that had been threatening to spill over. "I'm moving on now. I'm dating Logan."

Harry didn't comment on the fact that she had just spent a good amount of time telling him about a relationship that she stubbornly insisted was over.

After a minute or two of regret-filled silence, Hermione mentioned Harry's work and conversation flowed well enough from there to keep going for the two hours they spent catching up after that. Neither of them mentioned Hermione's love life again.

* * *

"And the vampire just wanted a bloodsicle!"

Logan's hearty voice jolted Hermione out of her thoughts, which were drifting dangerously close to _him_, and she realized he had just told her the ending of what was clearly an amusing story, as he was looking at her expectantly. "Oh, brilliant!" she exclaimed cheerfully, chuckling an appropriate amount.

The man who she was supposed to be in a relationship with began talking again, as Hermione's thoughts drifted over to the man who she wanted to be in a relationship with. _No!_ she said to herself angrily. _I _can't_ think about him! I _won't_ think about him! I'm with Logan now, and that's that._

Linking her arm with Logan's, she started to chat happily with him about this and that, the stubbornness she had acquired before birth allowing her to make the decision to bury any extra emotions she might accidentally allow herself to feel. Especially ones regarding the redhead who threatened to make her eyes create their own river because of him.

**_I'm twisted 'cause one side of me is tellin' me that I need to move on, on the other side I wanna break down and cry_.**

**_- + - + - + - + - + -_**

It was late November, and the weather outside was impeccable. Blue skies and barely chilling wind graced the outdoors on this day, an incredibly rare event for this time of year.

Inside the barracks, in one of their extra-secured meeting rooms, the minute hand on the clock seemed to be moving slower and slower the longer Ron stared at it. He was unable to peel his eyes away, the saying his mother had once quoted, "a watched pot never boils," repeating itself uselessly in his head over and over again.

All those in his group, section eight of the B.W. (British Waurors), were meeting with section three to discuss a possible joint mission coming up soon. Apparently, this one was so large that it needed more operatives to cover all of its aspects.

Ron had stopped listening awhile ago, his mind wandering towards the dangerous territory of _her_, the one he couldn't bear to think about and couldn't bear to live without. _This would be perfect weather to help her practice flying, I'll bet she hasn't touched a broom since the last time I made her try at the Burrow_, he mused.

"Brilliant, so we'll move out December twenty-eighth."

At the sound of Kinley's voice making what sounded like an important proclamation, Ron snapped to attention and shot out, "We're going where on December twenty-eighth?" before he could fully think out the fact that asking that question would tell everyone in the room, including his boss, that he clearly hadn't been listening.

Kinley's sharp gray-blue eyes glared daggers at him, and Ron could feel his ears heating up. With a scowl, Kinley growled, "If you'd been paying attention, Weasley, you'd know we're leaving on the Final X Mission on December twenty-eighth."

Knowing that his whole face must be red, Ron cleared his throat and asked sheepishly, "And what would Final X entail?"

Had Ron not known that Kinley was just putting up a show for the commanding officer of section three, Ron might have wet his pants at the glare he was receiving. "We'll be hunting down the last of the Anveli clan in Malaysia for approximately two years, no contact with anyone outside of the mission's sphere and informants – at least, that's the short version of it. Finnigan, brief Weasley later on the finer points of this mission."

Kinley went on to finish the rest of the meeting, but Ron's mind was spinning too fast for him to catch any of what was said. The Anveli Clan – standing for Antiveritaliberium – was the most potent Dark wizard association left after the defeat of Voldemort, and many of its higher leaders were former Death Eaters who had evaded capture. They were ruthless and somehow always seemed to know the best ways of achieving their usually sinister goals without widespread notice.

But that wasn't what rendered Ron speechless – it was the "two years, no contact with anyone outside" part that he dreaded. He knew he should be thinking of his family and best friend and all that could happen with and to them in two whole years, but there was only one person who caused him to be utterly dismayed at the thought of no contact for two years. _Bloody hell, I feel like shite and I only haven't seen her for four months! Two years – I'll be twenty-eight. She…hell, two years is more than enough time to bloody marry some other bloke and have his bloody baby!_

Suddenly, Seamus was pulling on Ron's shirt, urging him to stand up and walk out the door. Ron never heard a word of what Seamus told him because all he could think was, _Away from her for two years…two years!_

_**So many days, so many hours…**_

**_- - - - - - - - - - -_**

The weather couldn't be more perfect, the sky blue and the wind gently cool, twirling what was left of autumn's leaves in its joyous fingertips. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she had been this happy as she ran through the park near her apartment, arms stretched out in front of her in order to tackle her unwary best friend into the nearest leaf pile.

Harry let out a yell as the impact of her body came in contact with his back. He toppled over, much to Hermione's satisfaction. Now lying on his back, Hermione laughed giddily, unaware that Harry was not one to let an unfounded attack go easily. He quickly turned around and began to tickle her mercilessly. Hermione shrieked and tried to get away, all for naught, of course, as Harry had a firm grip around her waist.

Over Hermione's uncontrollable laughter, Harry commanded, "Say 'Harry Potter is the best Seeker in the world and my master and I obey his every word!'" As she shook her head no, Harry dug his fingers even deeper in her sides, going for her most ticklish spots. "Say it or I'll tickle you forever!"

"All right, all-all right!" Hermione gasped for breath and Harry ceased his attack, without releasing her from his grasp, and waited for her to have enough oxygen in her lungs to speak. "H-Harry Potter is the best S-Seeker in this park – AAH! Okay, okay, in the world! And…wait, I've forgotten the rest…" Hermione trailed off, wiping tears from her eyes.

Letting her go, Harry rolled away to lie next to her, as he said cheekily, "Good enough." For quite a while, the two of them simply gazed at the sky, watching the cotton-white clouds float lazily across the azure sky.

It wasn't long, though, before the sky's bright color reminded Hermione of the person missing from their fun and from her life in general. As tears of laughter dried, she fought to keep tears of sadness and longing out of her eyes. But the longer she looked up at the color she admired so much in his eyes, framed by the red of the leaves in the trees above them, the less she could keep her thoughts away from him. _My heart aches…I miss him so much…._

_**I'm still burnin' 'til you return.**_

Abruptly, she sat up, sniffling and furiously wiping her eyes and face with the backs of her hands.

Harry sat up too and knelt in front of her, trying to make eye contact. Tilting Hermione's head up with his right hand, forcing her to look him in the face, Harry frowned and sighed. "Go talk to him. Tell him how you feel."

Angrily standing up, Hermione brushed her clothes off. When she next spoke, her tone was as icy as the wind blowing around them. "You don't know what you're talking about, Harry." Hermione glanced at her watch as Harry stood, and grimaced internally. "And I'm supposed to meet Logan in five minutes at Diagon Alley… brilliant. So I have to be off."

Her smile warm again, all traces of whatever emotion that had been there moments before erased, Hermione held her arms out to Harry for a parting hug.

Before he pulled away, Harry whispered in her ear, "It isn't too late."

Hermione pecked a sisterly kiss on his cheek, ignoring his remark. "It was great to see you, Harry, come visit more often! Ta!" After checking to make sure there was no one else around, she Apparated away, leaving a very obviously saddened and frustrated Harry Potter behind.

She arrived a nanosecond later in the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, quickly smiling and waving at Tom, the old innkeeper, before walking out back to tap the bricks on the wall to gain entrance to Diagon Alley. After walking past the brick pillars, she unconsciously patted her hair as she looked around the crowded street, noting that even after fourteen years of coming here, it hadn't changed in the least. It still seemed different to her, though, as if _something_ was wrong that didn't have to do with the alleyway itself.

_It's me that's changed,_ Hermione realized unhappily. _I'm what's different…I'm what's wr-_

"Hermione! Over here!" She turned to see Logan smiling at her from one of the tables in Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. Hitching up her grin, she walked over to him and they embraced warmly before she took her seat. Logan gestured sheepishly to the sundae sitting in front of her and said, "I hope you don't mind, but I ordered for you – butterscotch with fudge and whipped cream."

She grinned and, after pecking a chaste kiss on his cheek, picked up her spoon. "Not at all. Thank you – it's my favorite."

Already digging into his own sundae, Logan grinned even wider, if possible. "I know. So how was your day? You must be glad to see Harry, he's away so often."

The conversation flowed from there, but in the inevitable silences that came from them eating and talking at once, Hermione's thoughts intervened. _Why can't you just love Logan? He's a wonderful man – sweet, generous, attentive, intelligent, funny… well, okay, so he can take the jokes a little too far sometimes, but nonetheless! He's virtually perfect._ Scooping up the last bit of fudge from the bottom of her glass, Hermione frowned. _But he isn't Ron_.

Logan stood up to pay for their ice creams at the counter (after forcing her to put her purse down), and Hermione continued to make sure she licked all the chocolate off her spoon. Once she had gotten every morsel, her mind came up with a decision that her heart detested – but if she had to die trying, her mind was going to control how her heart felt from now on. _I'll make myself love Logan. He seems to be quite attached to me… and he listens to practically everything I say. How can I- brilliant, I know! This _has_ to work, I can't keep thinking about Ron. I need to love someone else and that someone else is Logan._

Said man walked over to her and pulled out her chair so she could stand up. Looking very obviously down at her watch, Hermione linked her arms easily around Logan's neck and leaned into his embrace. He smiled happily at her, waiting for her to tell him where they were going now.

Hermione stared deeply into warm gray eyes and brushed a lock of brown hair out of his face before whispering so only he could hear, "I was thinking, why don't we head back to my place. We can go out again… after."

The gray eyes widened, lips smiling hesitantly. "You're sure-"

"Well, we _have_ been dating for almost three months… and that sundae seems to have put me in a very good mood," she responded pleasantly, gently playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Very well, then," Logan's voice became suddenly huskier than usual, and he dipped his head so his lips were millimeters away from Hermione's. His breath fanned her lips and she closed her eyes, preparing for a sweet kiss. "I'll race you." And with that, Logan had Disapparated, leaving Hermione standing there with a small smile on her face.

Laughing, she Apparated straight to her apartment and saw Logan had clearly beaten her there, as he was standing in the middle of her den.

Suddenly shy, Hermione walked over to Logan so that they were very close but not quite touching. As he looked deeply into her eyes, she wondered if she was doing the right thing.

When his lips met hers, she convinced herself to put thoughts of anything and anyone else aside and concentrate on the man she was with. When his skin touched hers, she forced herself to look in his eyes and see only him and what he was, not see who he should be. When he led her to the bed, she made herself enjoy everything she was feeling. When his hot breath mingled with hers, she persuaded herself to close her eyes and open her heart.

Looking at the man lying over her, she knew nothing had changed. But she would keep trying – she needed to make herself love him.

_**When your feelings ain't the same and your body don't want to, but you know you gotta let it go 'cause the party ain't jumping like it used to…**_

Ten minutes later, Logan was fast asleep and Hermione was standing in front of her bathroom sink, staring in the mirror. She knew she didn't like what she saw; she never had. She knew she wasn't like the other girls, wasn't pretty in the same way they were, but that had never really bothered her. In the grand scheme of things, looks didn't matter, so she never really paid attention to them in her daily life. But what she saw in the mirror now was beyond anything she had ever witnessed.

The reflection looking back at her was defeated. That was the only way to describe it.

Hermione Granger had never felt or been defeated in her whole life, not really, and now the eyes staring back at her were saying that she was in that layer of mud underneath rock bottom. She had lost whatever battle she had been fighting, had landed in the pigsty instead of on the grass, had jumped into the river instead of onto the dry bank across from it.

_What have I become?_ she wondered miserably. _When did I become dependant on _him_? It's only been four months and I'm bloody pining! I _can't_ be pining, blast it! I don't need him or anyone else, I'm fine all alone! _Her shoulders slumped and she realized that the washbin was supporting all of her body weight – and there was water running into the drain, in spite of the tap being off.

A moment of lucidity allowed her to put a Silencing Charm on the bathroom and lock the door with her wand before dropping it limply to the floor, falling next to it herself. As she lay there, bathrobe only half covering her still naked form, head resting on the cold tile and tears dripping into her hair, she grinned mirthlessly to herself. _No, _this_ is the layer of sludge underneath the mud and rock bottom._

She lay there for what seemed like years, her mind racing with regrets, before pulling herself into a sitting position. Her eyes were staring hard at the gray-white wall in front of her, gaze never wavering. As she stood up, not one limb shook and her eyes were as empty and dry as the Sahara. The robe tied tightly around her waist and hair in a neat bun, she walked gracefully out of the bathroom, taking the Locking and Silencing Charms off as she went.

Whistling to herself in the twilight as she put on a pot of tea, she reverted to the self-preservation tactic she hadn't had to use since she was eleven years old – suppression of everything inside. Having no one didn't hurt when you couldn't, wouldn't, feel. And she wasn't going to let her control slip away from her, she wasn't going to let anyone in under her guard and sweep her heart away. Not again. Not this time.

Reading the Daily Prophet that she hadn't gotten to that morning at her kitchen table, Hermione Granger, the stubborn, bossy, know-it-all, workaholic bookworm, was back.

_**Even though this might bruise you, let it burn, let it burn…gotta let it burn.**_

**_- - - - - - - - - - - -_**

"Weasley! Get your bloody head out of the bloody clouds! Christmas holidays aren't for three weeks yet and I expect bloody good performance until then! We leave in a month for the mission that could make or break your career – or your neck, for that matter - so you bloody well better be ready!" Kinley barked in Ron's general direction on what seemed like the coldest afternoon of the year.

"Yessir," Ron muttered in response, rubbing his hands together briefly before getting into battle stance again. _Bloody hell, I was just trying not to freeze my arse off in this bloody cold! We can't even practice well! Should just cancel it or move us inside the practice rooms, but _nooo_, bloody boss has to make us practice until our bloody bollocks fall off. Bloody Kinley…._

Ron paused as a flicker of recognition flashed through his ice-logged brain, those particular thoughts reminding him of another very cold day when he was outside when he didn't want to be. However, the main difference was what was waiting for him once he finally was allowed inside; plus he couldn't just leave this practice.

It was another hour of mock-battling in the frigid cold before Kinley barked, "All right princesses, you can go inside! No leaving the barracks, though; strategic meeting at nine-thirty!"

Thankful grumbling from Ron and his four coworkers ensued as they trudged to their bunkers. Once inside, Ron stripped to his boxers, ridding himself of his damp, cold clothes before rummaging around in his trunk for warm, dry ones. Once he had found what he was looking for, Ron turned and sat on his bed while he was dressing, his legs feeling as though they would fall off if he stood for much longer.

"Only one bloody hour to rest and eat! After our hardest session this week! Not bloody fair," Jack grumbled bitterly.

"And we can't even leave the barracks. I really need to-" Seamus paused mid-sentence and shut his mouth abruptly as he continued to stare at the bottom of the bunk above him, hands clasped behind his head.

Ron, whose bed was right next to Seamus's, studied his friend's face as he continued to put on his clothes. "What's wrong, Seamus?"

The lanky Irishman turned his head to look at Ron, a questioning look on his face.

"You didn't finish your sentence, you said, 'I really need to-' and trailed off. What's up?" Pulling his warm socks on, Ron stared critically at his friend, who looked like his dog had just died.

Seamus paused before replying, a frustrated look entering his facial features. "It's just – Lavender was really moody last week and we had a huge fight before I left. She won't reply to any of my owls, and I really needed to try and talk to her tonight – we usually get Wednesday nights off, you know."

Trying to hide his surprise, Ron asked curiously, "You're still seeing Lavender? I assumed you'd broken up after school ended… you always go to the pub."

Chuckling, Seamus returned his eyes to the bottom of the top bunk. "Yeah, I go to the pub a lot… but within half an hour you're all so pissed – well, when you come, that is, Ron – that none of you notice I disappear. I usually visit her then. And we actually did break up for two years, during the most intense part of our initial training. But we got together again and we've been together for five years since then… almost six, actually."

"You're not married, are you?" Ron couldn't hide his shock this time.

Full out laughing now, Seamus replied bitterly, "No, I was actually going to try proposing tonight, or next week on our anniversary, but it looks like that's going to have to wait. Bloody hell… I'm just afraid that if I make her wait much longer, she'll leave me for someone else. I don't think I could bloody well handle that."

Sighing in understanding, Ron nodded. "Mate, do I ever understand that. Look, we'll probably get off for part of this weekend, so you can try then."

"Yeah, I s'pose so…" Seamus muttered. He turned his head again to look at Ron before sitting up and beginning to pull dry clothes out of his trunk. "You know, in school, Lavender and I would joke about how we thought you and Hermione were a cert to beat us up the aisle."

Ron coughed, bending down to hide his face behind the lid of his trunk as he pretended to be rummaging through it. "Yeah, well, not so much. We don't really keep in touch anymore, though I've heard she's seeing some bloke at the Ministry."

"Funny how things work out, isn't it?"

_Funny how they don't_, Ron thought miserably.

_**Deep down, you know it's best for yourself, but you hate the thought of her being with someone else…**_

"Well, I've got to post an owl to Lavender and then I'm going to head to the dining hall – you coming?" Seamus was standing up, looking at Ron expectantly.

Leaning back on his heels, Ron noticed that everyone else had left for dinner by then and it was only the two of them in the room. "I'll be down in a minute."

"Right," was all Seamus uttered before walking out the door without a backwards glance. It was a good thing, too because otherwise he would have seen the sadness creeping across Ron's face like the clouds crept across the sky on a day destined for a storm.

Losing his balance, Ron fell back onto the floor, only his hands supporting the weight of his upper torso. He let his head settle on his chest, not bothering to move out of this position, chuckling mirthlessly.

Across his mind's eye, unbidden and unwanted images replayed scenes of the past, both ages and mere months ago. _A brown-eyed eleven-year-old girl telling him to get on with turning his rat yellow… a brown-eyed twelve-year-old girl looking admiringly at him as he belched up slugs… a brown-eyed seventeen-year-old girl telling him that nothing was wrong when it clearly was… a brown-eyed twenty-four-year-old woman standing in front of him wearing a white summer dress… the voice of a brown-eyed twenty-five-year-old woman telling him to leave…._

Part of him wanted all those memories erased, rationalizing that it wouldn't hurt if he didn't remember anything. But his heart told him the truth, that losing any memory of the woman he loved would end up killing him; even if he didn't know what it was, he would know that part of him was missing. A part of him was already missing as it was: his heart. He knew it was with her, wherever she was, whomever she was with, whatever she was doing.

He also knew that he would never get it back.

_I'm sure she's happy with that bloke, whoever he is. That's all I want, for her to be happy… even if it's not with me._ His cobalt eyes closed shut in denial of the acute pain tearing at him from merely thinking those thoughts.

Sitting on the dusty floor of a barracks that he wished to leave and never return to, Ronald Weasley put his head in his hands and let the tears fall for the woman he loved, acknowledging that not only his chance at love with her was lost, but also all chance of rekindling the friendship he had been blessed with for fourteen years.

**_But you know that it's over, you know that it was through, let it burn, let it burn….gotta let it burn._**

**_

* * *

_**

_A/N: please don't hate me! and review, while you're at it... _


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